■\^shedAbizona 

BECOLLECnONS  OF 
MYARMYLffE 

BT 

MABTHA.  SUMMEEHAJfES 


Vanished  Arizona 


Vanished  Arizona 

Recollections  of  the  Army  Life 
of  a  New  England  Woman 


BY 

Martha  Summerhayes 


With  Twenty-eight   Illustrations 


sr  X 


Published  by 

The  Sai,km  Press  Co. 

Salem,  Mass. 


6^" 


.5^ 


Copyright,  1911,  by  Martha  Summerhayes 


TO  MY  SON 

HARRY  SUMMERHAYES 

WHO  SHARED  THE  VICISSITUDES  OI^  MY 

I<IFE  IN  ARIZONA,  THIS  BOOK  IS 

AFFECTIONATEI.Y  DEDICATED 


250803 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/arizonarvanishedOOsummrich 


Preface 

I  HAVE  written  this  story  of  my  army  life  at  the 
urgent  and  ceaseless  request  of  my  children. 

For  whenever  I  allude  to  those  early  days,  and 
tell  to  them  the  tales  they  have  so  often  heard,  they 
always  say:  **  Now,  mother,  will  you  write  these 
stories  for  us?  Please,  mother,  do\  we  must  never 
forget  them/' 

Then,  after  an  interval,  ''Mother,  have  you  written 
those  stories  of  Arizona  yet?"  until  finally,  with  the 
aid  of  some  old  letters  written  from  those  very  places 
(the  letters  having  been  preserved,  with  other  papers 
of  mine,  by  an  uncle  in  New  England  long  since  dead), 
I  have  been  able  to  give  a  fairly  connected  story. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  commemorate  my  husband's 
brave  career  in  the  Civil  War,  as  I  was  not  married 
until  some  years  after  the  close  of  that  war,  nor  to 
describe  the  many  Indian  campaigns  in  which  he  took 
part,  nor  to  write  about  the  achievements  of  the  old 
Eighth  Infantry.  I  leave  all  that  to  the  historian. 
I  have  given  simply  the  impressions  made  upon  the 
mind  of  a  young  New  England  woman  who  left  her 

7 


PREFACE 

comfortable  home  in  the  early  seventies,  to  follow  a 
second  lieutenant  into  the  wildest  encampments  of 
the  American  army. 

Hoping  the  story  may  possess  some  interest  for  the 
younger  women  of  the  army,  and  possibly  for  some 
of  our  old  friends,  both  in  the  army  and  in  civil  life, 
I  venture  to  send  it  forth. 


PosTCRiPT  (second  edition) , 

The  appendix  to  this,  the  second  edition  of  my 
book,  will  tell  something  of  the  kind  manner  in 
which  the  first  edition  was  received  by  my  friends 
and  the  public  at  large. 

But  as  several  people  had  expressed  a  wish  that  I 
should  tell  more  of  my  army  experiences  I  have  gone 
carefully  over  the  entire  book,  adding  some  detail 
and  a  few  incidents  which  had  come  to  my  mind 
later. 

I  have  also  been  able,  with  some  difficulty  and 
much  patient  effort,  to  secure  several  photographs  of 
exceptional  interest,  which  have  been  added  to  the 
illustrations. 

January,  1911. 


Contents 


chapter  page 

Preface    7 

I.     Germany  and  the  Army 13 

II.     I  Joined  the  Army 20 

III.  Army  HoUvSE-keeping 23 

IV.  Down  THE  Pacific  Coast 34 

V.     The  Si<ue 41 

VI.     Up  The  Rio  Coi^orado 48 

VII.    The  Mojave  Desert 58 

VIII.     Learning  How  to  Soi^dier 70 

IX.    Across  the  Mogoi.i.ons       78 

X.     A  PeriIvOus  Adventure 86 

XI.     Camp  Apache 88 

XII.     Life  Amongst  the  Apaches 97 

XIII.  A  New  Recruit 109 

XIV.  A  Memorabi^e  Journey 117 

XV.     Fording  the  Litti^e  CoXorado   ....  125 

XVI.     Stoneman's  Lake 131 

XVII.    The  Coi^orado  Desert 143 

XVIII.     Ehrenberg  on  the  C01.ORADO     ....  147 

XIX.     Summer  at  Ehrenberg 154 

XX.     My  DE1.IVERER 172  . 

XXI.     Winter  in  Ehrenberg 178 

XXII.    Return  to  the  States 187 

XXIII.  Back  to  Arizona 194 

XXIV.  Up  the  Vai,i.ey  of  the  Gii,a 203 

XXV.     Oi,D  Camp  MacDowei.1, 209 

XXVI.     A  Sudden  Order 223 

XXVII.     The  Eighth  Foot  Leaves  Arizona     .     .  231 

XXVIII.     Cai^ifornia  and  Nevada 234  - 

XXIX.     Changing  Station 249 

XXX.     Fort  Niobrara       .' 257 

XXXI.     Santa  F6 271 

XXXII.     Texas 281 

XXXIII.     David's  Isi^and 296 

Appendix 304 

9 


List  of  Illustrations 

Portrait  of  Martha  Summerhayes Frontispiece 

**  Jack'*  Mellon,  the  Famous  Pilot  of  the  Colorado  River, 

1875.  59 

White  Mountain  Apache  Indian  Scouts,  1875 106 

Captain    William    T.     Worth,     Brevet-Major,    U.  S.  A. 

Afterwards  Brigadier-General 107 

Barney's  Store  at  Khrenberg,  1875 150 

Our  Quarters  at  Bhrenberg,  1875 156 

Yuma  Indians  in  1875. 170 

Native  dress  of  the  Cocopah  and  Yuma  Indian  Woman 

in '75 176 

Suw^rro,  Giant  Cactus,  Near  Camp  MacDowell,  Arizona, 

1877. 206 

Our  Quarters  at  Old  Camp  MacDowell,  Arizona,  1877 210 

Bowen,  Our  Faithful  Soldier-cook 215 

Fort  Yuma,  Arizona,  and  Railroad  Bridge  on  the  Great 

Colorado,  1877 232 

Group:  Lt.  C.  P.  Terrett,  Ivt.  Bingham,  Major  Wilhelm, 

Ivt.  Phil.  Reade,  Lt.  Charley  Bailey 244 

The   Old    "General    McPherson"    Plying   From   Angel 

Island  to  Alcatraz  and  San  Francisco,  1880 246 

Mission  Church  of  San  Xavier  del  Bac.     Showing   the 

Ruins 254 

Mission  Church  of  San  Xavier  del  Bac.     Front  View 254 

Altar,  Mission  of  San  Xavier  del  Bac 255 

Ofi&cers'  Quarters,  Fort  Niobrara,  Nebraska,  1887 258 

General  August  V.  Kautz 261 

A  Sioux  Indian  Family;  Buck,  Squaw  and  Child 262 

John  W.  Summerhayes,  Major  and  Quartermaster,  U.S.A.  268 
Ox-team  Fording  the  Niobrara  River.      Hauling  Wood 

to  the  Fort 269 

Ox-teams  Hauling  Wood   to   Fort  Niobrara,  Nebraska, 

1888 270 

Old  Palace  of  the  Spanish  Viceroys,  Santa  F6 276 

Our  Morning  Rides  at  Santa  F6,  New  Mexico,  1889 278 

Frederic  Remington  and  Jack  Summerhayes 288 

IJ 


Vanished  Arizona 

CHAPTER  I 
gi:rmany  and  the  army 

The  stai^wart  men  of  the  Prussian  army,  the  Lan- 
cers, the  Dragoons,  the  Hussars,  the  clank  of  their 
sabres  on  the  pavements,  their  brilHant  uniforms,  all 
made  an  impression  upon  my  romantic  mind,  and  I 
listened  eagerly,  in  the  quiet  evenings,  to  tales  of 
Hanover  under  King  George,  to  stories  of  battles  lost, 
and  the  entry  of  the  Prussians  into  the  old  Residenz- 
stadt;  the  flight  of  the  King,  and  the  sorrow  and 
chagrin  which  prevailed. 

For  I  was  living  in  the  family  of  General  Weste, 
the  former  stadt-commandant  of  Hanover,  who  had 
served  fifty  years  in  the  army  and  had  accom- 
panied King  George  on  his  exit  from  the  city. 
He  was  a  gallant  veteran,  with  the  rank  of  General- 
Lieutenant,  ausser  Dienst.  A  charming  and  dignified 
man,  accepting  philosophically  the  fact  that  Hanover 
had  become  Prussian,  but  loyal  in  his  heart  to  his 
King  and  to  old  Hanover;  pretending  great  wrath 
when,  on  the  King's  birthday,  he  found  yellow  and 
white  sand  strewn  before  his  door,  but  unable  to 
conceal  the  joyful  gleam  in  his  eye  when  he  spoke 
of  it. 

13  \ 


•  ;  ;•:  -^ '  ''  '  ^.«VANiSHED  ARIZONA 

The  Generars  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  burgo- 
master and  had  been  brought  up  in  a  neighboring 
town.    She  was  a  dear,  kind  soul. 

The  house-keeping  was  simple,  but  stately  and  pre- 
cise, as  befitted  the  rank  of  this  officer.  The  General 
was  addressed  by  the  servants  as  Bxcellenz  and  his 
wife  as  Prau  Bxcellenz.  A  charming  unmarried 
daughter  lived  at  home,  making,  with  myself,  a 
family  of  four. 

Life  was  spent  quietly,  and  every  evening,  after 
our  coffee  (served  in  the  living-room  in  winter,  and 
in  the  garden  in  summer),  Frau  Generalin  would 
amuse  me  with  descriptions  of  life  in  her  old  home, 
and  of  how  girls  were  brought  up  in  her  day;  how 
industry  was  esteemed  by  her  mother  the  greatest 
virtue,  and  idleness  was  punished  as  the  most  be- 
guiling sin.  She  was  never  allowed,  she  said,  to  read, 
even  on  Sunday,  without  her  knitting-work  in  her 
hands;  and  she  would  often  sigh,  and  say  to  me,  in 
German  (for  dear  Frau  Generalin  spoke  no  other 
tongue),  ''Ach,  Martha,  you  American  girls  are  so 
differently  brought  up";  and  I  would  say,  ''But, 
Prau  Generalin,  which  way  do  you  think  is  the 
better?''  She  would  then  look  puzzled,  shrug  her 
shoulders,  and  often  say,  "Ach !  times  are  different  I 
suppose,  but  my  ideas  can  never  change." 

Now  the  dear  Frau  Generalin  did  not  speak  a  word 
of  Enghsh,  and  as  I  had  had  only  a  few  lessons  in 
German  before  I  left  America,  I  had  the  utmost  diffi- 

14 


GERMANY  AND  THE  ARMY 

culty  at  first  in  comprehending  what  she  said.  She 
spoke  rapidly  and  I  would  listen  with  the  closest 
attention,  only  to  give  up  in  despair,  and  to  say, 
''Gute  Nacht,''  evening  after  evening,  with  my  head 
buzzing  and  my  mind  a  blank. 

After  a  few  weeks,  however,  I  began  to  understand 
everything  she  said,  altho'  I  could  not  yet  write  or 
read  the  language,  and  I  listened  with  the  greatest 
interest  to  the  story  of  her  marriage  with  young 
Lieutenant  Weste,  of  the  bringing  up  of  her  four 
children,  and  of  the  old  days  in  Hanover,  before  the 
Prussians  took  possession. 

She  described  to  me  the  brilliant  Hanoverian  Court, 
the  endless  festivities  and  balls,  the  stately  elegance 
of  the  old  city,  and  the  cruel  misfortunes  of  the  King. 
And  how,  a  few  days  after  the  King's  flight,  the 
end  of  all  things  came  to  her;  for  she  was  politely 
informed  one  evening,  by  a  big  Prussian  major,  that 
she  must  seek  other  lodgings — he  needed  her  quarters. 
At  this  point  she  always  wept,  and  I  sympathized. 

Thus  I  came  to  know  military  life  in  Germany,  and 
I  fell  in  love  with  the  army,  with  its  brilliancy  and 
its  glitter,  with  its  struggles  and  its  romance,  with 
its  sharp  contrasts,  its  deprivations,  and  its  chivalry. 

I  came  to  know,  as  their  guest,  the  best  of  old 
military  society.  They  were  very  old-fashioned  and 
precise,  and  Prau  Generalin  often  told  me  that  Amer- 
ican girls  were  too  ausgelassen  in  their  manners.  She 
often  reproved  me  for  seating  myself  upon  the  sofa 

15 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

(which  was  only  for  old  people)  and  also  for  looking 
about  too  much  when  walking  on  the  streets.  Young 
girls  must  keep  their  eyes  more  cast  down,  looking  up 
only  occasionally.  (I  thought  this  dreadfully  prim, 
as  I  was  eager  to  see  everything).  I  was  expected  to 
stop  and  drop  a  little  courtesy  on  meeting  an  older 
woman,  and  then  to  inquire  after  the  health  of  each 
member  of  the  family.  It  seemed  to  take  a  lot  of  time, 
but  all  the  other  girls  did  it,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  no  hurry  about  anything,  ever,  in  that  elegant  old 
Residenz-stadt.  Surely  a  contrast  to  our  bustling 
American  towns. 

A  sentiment  seemed  to  underlie  everything  they 
did.  The  Emperor  meant  so  much  to  them,  and  they 
adored  the  Empress.  A  personal  feeling,  an  affec- 
tion, such  as  I  had  never  heard  of  in  a  republic,  caused 
me  to  stop  and  wonder  if  an  empire  were  not  the  best, 
after  all.  And  one  day,  when  the  Emperor,  passing 
through  Hanover  en  route,  drove  down  the  Georgen- 
strasse  in  an  open  barouche  and  raised  his  hat  as  he 
glanced  at  the  sidewalk  where  I  happened  to  be  stand- 
ing, my  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating,  and  I  was  over- 
come by  a  most  wonderful  feeling — a  feeling  that  in 
a  man  would  have  meant  chivalry  and  loyalty  unto 
death. 

In  this  beautiful  old  city,  life  could  not  be  taken 
any  other  than  leisurely.  Theatres  with  early  hours, 
the  maid  coming  for  me  with  a  lantern  at  nine  o'clock, 
the  frequent  Kaffee-klatsch,  the  delightful  afternoon 

i6 


GERMANY  AND  THE  ARMY 

coffee  at  the  Georgen-garten,  the  visits  to  the  Zoo- 
logical gardens,  where  we  always  took  our  fresh  rolls 
along  with  our  knitting-work  in  a  basket,  and  then  sat 
at  a  little  table  in  the  open,  and  were  served  with 
coffee,  sweet  cream,  and  butter,  by  a  strapping  Hes- 
sian peasant  woman — all  so  simple,  yet  so  elegant,  so 
peaceful. 

We  heard  the  best  music  at  the  theatre,  which  was 
managed  with  the  same  precision,  and  maintained  by 
the  Government  with  the  same  generosity,  as  in  the 
days  of  King  George.  No  one  was  allowed  to  enter 
after  the  overture  had  begun,  and  an  absolute  hush 
prevailed. 

The  orchestra  consisted  of  sixty  or  more  pieces,  and 
the  audience  was  critical.  The  parquet  was  filled 
with  officers  in  the  gayest  uniforms;  there  were  few 
ladies  amongst  them ;  the  latter  sat  mostly  in  the 
boxes,  of  which  there  were  several  tiers,  and  as 
soon  as  the  curtain  fell,  between  the  acts,  the  officers 
would  rise,  turn  around,  and  level  their  glasses  at  the 
boxes.    Sometimes  they  came  and  visited  in  the  boxes. 

As  I  had  been  brought  up  in  a  town  half  Quaker, 
half  Puritan,  the  custom  of  going  to  the  theatre 
Sunday  evenings  was  rather  a  questionable  one  in  my 
mind.  But  I  soon  fell  in  with  their  ways,  and  found 
that  on  Sunday  evenings  there  was  always  the  most 
brilliant  audience  and  the  best  plays  were  selected. 
With  this  break-down  of  the  wall  of  narrow  preju- 
dice, I  gave  up  others  equally  as  narrow,  and  adopted 

17 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

the  German  customs  with  my  whole  heart. 

I  studied  the  language  with  unflinching  persever- 
ance, for  this  was  the  opportunity  I  had  dreamed 
about  and  longed  for  in  the  barren  winter  evenings  at 
Nantucket  when  I  sat  poring  over  Coleridge's  trans- 
lations of  Schiller's  plays  and  Bayard  Taylor's  version 
of  Goethe's  Faust. 

Should  I  ever  read  these  intelligently  in  the 
original  ? 

And  when  my  father  consented  for  me  to  go  over 
and  spend  a  year  and  live  in  General  Weste's  family, 
there  never  was  a  happier  or  more  grateful  young 
woman.  Appreciative  and  eager,  I  did  not  waste  a 
moment,  and  my  keen  enjoyment  of  the  German 
classics  repaid  me  a  hundred  fold  for  all  my  in- 
dustry. 

Neither  time  nor  misfortune,  nor  illness  can  take 
from  me  the  memory  of  that  year  of  privileges  such 
as  is  given  few  American  girls  to  enjoy,  when  they 
are  at  an  age  to  fully  appreciate  them. 

And  so  completely  separated  was  I  from  the  Ameri- 
can and  English  colony  that  I  rarely  heard  tny  own 
language  spoken,  and  thus  I  lived,  ate,  listened,  talked, 
and   even   dreamed   in   German. 

There  seemed  to  be  time  enough  to  do  everything 
we  wished;  and,  as  the  Franco-Prussian  war  was  just 
over  (it  was  the  year  of  1871),  and  many  troops  were 
in  garrison  at  Hanover,  the  officers  could  always  join 
us   at  the  various   gardens   for   after-dinner   coffee, 

18 


GERMANY  AND  THE  ARMY 

which,  by  the  way,  was  not  taken  in  the  demi-tasse, 
but  in  good  generous  coffee-cups,  with  plenty  of  rich 
cream.  Every  one  drank  at  least  two  cups,  the 
officers  smoked,  the  women  knitted  or  embroidered, 
and  those  were  among  the  pleasantest  hours  I  spent  in 
Germany. 

The  intrusion  of  unwelcome  visitors  was  never  to 
be  feared,  as,  by  common  consent,  the  various  classes 
in  Hanover  kept  by  themselves,  thus  enjoying  life 
much  better  than  in  a  country  where  everybody  is 
striving  after  the  pleasures  and  luxuries  enjoyed  by 
those  whom  circumstances  have  placed  above  them. 

The  gay  uniforms  lent  a  brilliancy  to  every  affair, 
however  simple.  Officers  were  not  allowed  to  appear 
en  civile,  unless  on  leave  of  absence. 

I  used  to  say,  ''Oh,  Frau  General,  how  fascinating 
it  all  is!''  ''Hush,  Martha,"  she  would  say;  "Hfe 
in  the  army  is  not  always  so  brilliant  as  it  looks; 
in  fact,  we  often  call  it,  over  here,  'glaenzendes 
Blend  f  " 

These  bitter  words  made  a  great  impression  upon 
my  mind,  and  in  after  years,  on  the  American 
frontier,  I  seemed  to  hear  them  over  and  over  again. 

When  I  bade  good-bye  to  the  General  and  his 
family,  I  felt  a  tightening  about  my  throat  and  my 
heart,  and  I  could  not  speak.  Life  in  Germany  had 
become  dear  to  me,  and  I  had  not  known  how  dear 
until  I  was  leaving  it  forever. 

(19) 


CHAPTER  II 
I  joine:d  thk  army 

I  was  put  in  charge  of  the  captain  of  the  North 
German  Lloyd  S.  S.  ''Donau/'  and  after  a  most  ter- 
rific cyclone  in  mid-ocean,  in  which  we  nearly  found- 
ered, I  landed  in  Hoboken,  sixteen  days  from 
Bremen. 

My  brother,  Harry  Dunham,  met  me  on  the  pier, 
saying,  as  he  took  me  in  his  arms,  "You  do  not 
need  to  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  trip  you  have  had; 
it  is  enough  to  look  at  the  ship — that  tells  the  story." 

As  the  vessel  had  been  about  given  up  for  lost, 
her  arrival  was  somewhat  of  an  agreeable  surprise 
to  all  our  friends,  and  to  none  more  so  than  my  old 
friend  Jack,  a  second  lieutenant  of  the  United  States 
army,  who  seemed  so  glad  to  have  me  back  in  America, 
that  I  concluded  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  join  the 
army  myself. 

A  quiet  wedding  in  the  country  soon  followed  my 
decision,  and  we  set  out  early  in  April  of  the  year 
1874  to  join  his  regiment,  which  was  stationed  at 
Fort  Russell,  Cheyenne,  Wyoming  Territory. 

I  had  never  been  west  of  New  York,  and  Cheyenne 
seemed  to  me,  in  contrast  with  the  finished  civiliza- 
tion of  Europe,  which  I  had  so  recently  left,  the 
wildest  sort  of  a  place. 

20 


I  JOINED  THE  ARMY 

Arriving  in  the  morning,  and  alighting  from  the 
train,  two  gallant  ofificers,  in  the  uniform  of  the 
United  States  infantry,  approached  and  gave  us  wel- 
come; and  to  me,  the  bride,  a  special  "welcome  to 
the  regiment"  was  given  by  each  of  them  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

Major  Wilhelm  said,  "  The  ambulance  is  right  here; 
you  must  come  to  our  house  and  stay  until  you  get 
your  quarters." 

Such  was  my  introduction  to  the  army — and  to  the 
army  ambulance,  in  which  I  was  destined  to  travel 
so  many  miles. 

Four  lively  mules  and  a  soldier  driver  brought  us 
soon  to  the  post,  and  Mrs.  Wilhelm  welcomed  us  to 
her  pleasant  and  comfortable-looking  quarters. 

I  had  never  seen  an  army  post  in  America.  I  had 
always  lived  in  places  which  needed  no  garrison,  and 
the  army,  except  in  Germany,  was  an  unknown  quan- 
tity to  me. 

Fort  Russell  was  a  large  post,  and  the  garrison 
consisted  of  many  companies  of  cavalry  and  infantry. 
It  was  all  new  and  strange  to  me. 

Soon  after  luncheon.  Jack  said  to  Major  Wilhelm, 
"Well,  now,  I  must  go  and  look  for  quarters:  what's 
the  prospect?" 

"You  will  have  to  turn  some  one  out,"  said  the 
Major,  as  they  left  the  house  together. 

About  an  hour  afterwards  they  returned,  and  Jack 
said,    "Well,    I   have   turned   out    Lynch;    but,"    he 

21 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

added,  **as  his  wife  ai^d  child  are  away,  I  do  not 
believe  he'll  care  very  much/' 

*'Oh,''  said  I,  ''Vm  so  sorry  to  have  to  turn  any- 
body out !'' 

The  Major  and  his  wife  smiled,  and  the  former 
remarked,  ''You  must  not  have  too  much  sympathy: 
it's  the  custom  of  the  service — it's  always  done — by 
virtue  of  rank.  They'll  hate  you  for  doing  it,  but 
if  you  don't  do  it  they'll  not  respect  you.  After 
you've  been  turned  out  once  yourself,  you  will  not 
mind  turning  others  out." 

The  following  morning  I  drove  over  to  Cheyenne 
with  Mrs.  Wilhelm,  and  as  I  passed  Lieutenant 
Lynch's  quarters  and  saw  soldiers  removing  Mrs. 
Lynch's  lares  and  penates,  in  the  shape  of  a  sewing 
machine,  lamp-shades,  and  other  home-like  things,  I 
turned  away  in  pity  that  such  customs  could  exist  in 
our  service. 

To  me,  who  had  lived  my  life  in  the  house  in 
which  I  was  born,  moving  was  a  thing  to  be  dreaded. 

But  Mrs.  Wilhelm  comforted  me,  and  assured  me 
it  was  not  such  a  serious  matter  after  all.  Army 
women  were  accustomed  to  it,  she  said. 

(22) 


CHAPTER  III 

ARMY  HOUSE-KKKPING 

Not  knowing  before  I  left  home  just  what  was 
needed  for  house-keeping  in  the  army,  and  being  able 
to  gather  only  vague  ideas  on  the  subject  from  Jack, 
who  declared  that  his  quarters  were  fumislied  ad- 
mirably, I  had  taken  out  with  me  but  few  articles 
in  addition  to  the  silver  and  linen-chests. 

I  began  to  have  serious  doubts  on  the  subject  of 
my  menage,  after  inspecting  the  bachelor  furnishings 
which  had  seemed  so  ample  to  my  husband.  But 
there  was  so  much  to  be  seen  in  the  way  of  guard 
uount,  cavalry  drill,  and  various  military  functions, 
besides  the  drives  to  town  and  the  concerts  of  the 
string  orchestra,  that  I  had  little  time  to  think  of  the 
practical  side  of  Ufe. 

Added  to  this,  we  were  enjoying  the  delightful 
hospitality  of  the  Wilhelms,  and  the  Major  insisted 
upon  making  me  acquainted  with  the  "real  old- 
fashioned  army  toddy''  several  times  a  day, —  a  new 
beverage  to  me,  brought  up  in  a  blue-ribbon  com- 
munity, where  wine-bibbing  and  whiskey  drinking 
were  rated  as  belonging  to  only  the  lowest  classes. 
Po  be  sure,  my  father  always  drank  two  fingers  of 
tine  cognac  before  dinner,  but  I  had  always  con- 
sidered that  a  sort  of  medicine  for  a  man  advanced 
in  years. 

?3 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Taken  all  in  all,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  I  saw 
not  much  in  those  few  days  besides  bright  buttons, 
blue  uniforms,  and  shining  swords. 

Everything  was  military  and  gay  and  brilliant,  and 
I  forgot  the  very  existence  of  practical  things,  in 
listening  to  the  dreamy  strains  of  Italian  and  German 
music,  rendered  by  our  excellent  and  painstaking 
orchestra.  For  the  Eighth  Infantry  loved  good  music, 
and  had  imported  its  musicans  direct  from  Italy. 

This  came  to  an  end,  however,  after  a  few  days,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  descend  from  those  heights  to  the  dead 
level  of  domestic  economy. 

My  husband  informed  me  that  the  quarters  were 
ready  for  our  occupancy  and  that  we  could  begin 
house-keeping  at  once.  He  had  engaged  a  soldier 
named  Adams  for  a  striker ;  he  did  not  know  whether 
Adams  was  much  of  a  cook,  he  said,  but  he  was  the 
only  available  man  just  then,  as  the  companies  were 
up  north  at  the  Agency. 

Our  quarters  consisted  of  three  rooms  and  a  kitchen, 
which  formed  one-half  of  a  double  house. 

I  asked  Jack  why  we  could  not  have  a  whole  house. 
I  did  not  think  I  could  possibly  live  in  three  rooms 
and  a  kitchen. 

''Why,  Martha,"  said  he,  "did  you  not  know  that 
women  are  not  reckoned  in  at  all  at  the  War  Depart- 
ment? A  lieutenant's  allowance  of  quarters,  accord- 
ing to  the  Army  Regulations,  is  one  room  and  a 
kitchen,  a  captain's  allowance  is  two  rooms  and  a 

24 


ARMY  HOUSE-KEEPING 

kitchen,  and  so  on  up,  until  a  colonel  has  a  fairly 
good  house/'  I  told  him  I  thought  it  an  outrage; 
that  lieutenants'  wives  needed  quite  as  much  as 
colonels'  wives. 

He  laughed  and  said,  "You  see  we  have  already 
two  rooms  over  our  proper  allowance;  there  are  so 
many  married  officers,  that  the  Government  has  had 
to  stretch  a  point." 

After  indulging  in  some  rather  harsh  comments 
upon  a  government  which  could  treat  lieutenants' 
wives  so  shabbily,  I  began  to  investigate  my  sur- 
roundings. 

Jack  had  placed  his  furnishings  (some  lace  cur- 
tains, camp  chairs,  and  a  carpet)  in  the  living-room, 
and  there  was  a  forlorn-looking  bedstead  in  the  bed- 
room. A  pine  table  in  the  dining-room  and  a  range  in 
the  kitchen  completed  the  outfit.  A  soldier  had 
scrubbed  the  rough  floors  with  a  straw  broom :  it  was 
absolutely  forlorn,  and  my  heart  sank  within  me. 

But  then  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Wilhelm's  quarters,  and 
resolved  to  try  my  best  to  make  ours  look  as  cheerful 
and  pretty  as  hers.  A  chaplain  was  about  leaving 
the  post  and  wished  to  dispose  of  his  things,  so  we 
bought  a  carpet  of  him,  a  few  more  camp  chairs  of 
various  designs,  and  a  cheerful-looking  table-cover. 
We  were  obliged  to  be  very  economical,  as  Jack  was  a 
second  lieutenant,  the  pay  was  small  and  a  little  in 
arrears,  after  the  wedding  trip  and  long  journey  out. 
We  bought  white  Holland  shades  for  the  windows,  and 

25 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

made  the  three  rooms  fairly  comfortable  and  then  I 
turned  my  attention  to  the  kitchen. 

Jack  said  I  should  not  have  to  buy  anything  at  all; 
the  Quartermaster  Department  furnished  everything 
in  the  line  of  kitchen  utensils;  and,  as  his  word  was 
law,  I  went  over  to  the  quartermaster  store-house  to 
select  the  needed  articles. 

After  what  I  had  been  told,  I  was  surprised  to 
find  nothing  smaller  than  two-gallon  tea-kettles,  meat- 
forks  a  yard  long,  and  mess-kettles  deep  enough  to 
cook  rations  for  fifty  men!  I  rebelled,  and  said  I 
would  not  use  such  gigantic  things. 

My  husband  said :  ''Now,  Mattie,  be  reasonable ;  all 
the  army  women  keep  house  with  these  utensils;  the 
regiment  will  move  soon,  and  then  what  should  we 
do  with  a  lot  of  tin  pans  and  such  stuff  ?  You  know  a 
second  lieutenant  is  allowed  only  a  thousand  pounds 
of  baggage  when  he  changes  station.''  This  was  a 
hard  lesson,  which  I  learned  later. 

Having  been  brought  up  in  an  old-time  community, 
where  women  deferred  to  their  husbands  in  every- 
thing, I  yielded,  and  the  huge  things  were  sent  over. 
I  had  told  Mrs.  Wilhelm  that  we  were  to  have 
luncheon  in  our  own  quarters. 

So  Adams  made  a  fire  large  enough  to  roast  beef 
for  a  company  of  soldiers,  and  he  and  I  attempted  to 
boil  a  few  eggs  in  the  deep  mess-kettle  and  to  make 
the  water  boil  in  the  huge  tea-kettle. 

But  Adams,  as  it  turned  out,  was  not  a  cook,  and  I 

26 


ARMY  HOUSEKEEPING 

must  confess  that  my  own  attention  had  been  more 
engrossed  by  the  study  of  German  auxiliary  verbs, 
during  the  few  previous  years,  than  with  the  art  of 
cooking. 

Of  course,  Hke  all  New  England  girls  of  that  period, 
I  knew  how  to  make  quince  jelly  and  floating  islands, 
but  of  the  actual,  practical  side  of  cooking,  and  the 
management  of  a  range,  I  knew  nothing. 

Here  was  a  dilemma,  indeed! 

The  eggs  appeared  to  boil,  but  they  did  not  seem 
to  be  done  when  we  took  them  off,  by  the  minute-hand 
of  the  clock. 

I  declared  the  kettle  was  too  large;  Adams  said  he 
did  not  understand  it  at  all. 

I  could  have  wept  with  chagrin!  Our  first  meal 
a  deux  I 

I  appealed  to  Jack.  He  said,  ''Why,  of  course, 
Martha,  you  ought  to  know  that  things  do  not  cook 
as  quickly  at  this  altitude  as  they  do  down  at  the 
sea  level.  We  are  thousands  of  feet  above  the  sea  here 
in  Wyoming."  (I  am  not  sure  it  was  thousands,  but 
it  was  hundreds  at  least.) 

So  that  was  the  trouble,  and  I  had  not  thought  of  it ! 

My  head  was  giddy  with  the  glamour,  the  uniform, 
the  guard-mount,  the  military  music,  the  rarefied  air, 
the  new  conditions,  the  new  interests  of  my  life. 
Heine's  songs,  Goethe's  plays,  history  and  romance 
were  floating  through  my  mind.  Is  it  to  be  wondered 
at   that   I   and   Adams   together   prepared   the   most 

27 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

atrocious  meals  that  ever  a  new  husband  had  to  eat? 

I  related  my  difficulties  to  Jack,  and  told  him  I 
thought  we  should  never  be  able  to  manage  with  such 
kitchen  utensils  as  were  furnished  by  the  Q.  M.  D. 

*'Oh,  pshaw !  You  are  pampered  and  spoiled  with 
your  New  England  kitchens,"  said  he;  "you  will 
have  to  learn  to  do  as  other  army  women  do — cook 
in  cans  and  such  things,  be  inventive,  and  learn  to 
do  with  nothing."  This  was  my  first  lesson  in  army 
house-keeping. 

After  my  unpractical  teacher  had  gone  out  on  some 
official  business,  I  ran  over  to  Mrs.  Wilhelm's  quar- 
ters and  said,  "Will  you  let  me  see  your  kitchen 
closet?" 

She  assented,  and  I  saw  the  most  beautiful  array 
of  tin-ware,  shining  and  neat,  placed  in  rows  upon 
the  shelves  and  hanging  from  hooks  on  the  wall. 

''SoT  I  said;  "my  military  husband  does  not  know 
anything  about  these  things ;"  and  I  availed  myself  of 
the  first  trip  of  the  ambulance  over  to  Cheyenne, 
bought  a  stock  of  tin- ware  and  had  it  charged,  and 
made  no  mention  of  it —  because  I  feared  that  tin- 
ware was  to  be  our  bone  of  contention,  and  I  put 
off  the  evil  day. 

The  cooking  went  on  better  after  that,  but  I  did  not 
have  much  assistance  from  Adams. 

I  had  great  trouble  at  first  with  the  titles  and  the 
rank:  but  I  soon  learned  that  many  of  the  officers 
were  addressed  by  the  brevet  title  bestowed  upon  them 

28 


ARMY  HOUSE-KEEPING. 

for  gallant  service  in  the  Civil  War,  and  I  began  to 
understand  about  the  ways  and  customs  of  the  army 
of  Uncle  Sam.  In  contrast  to  the  Germans,  the 
American  lieutenants  were  not  addressed  by  their 
title  (except  officially)  ;  I  learned  to  ''Mr."  all  the 
lieutenants  who  had  no  brevet. 

One  morning  I  suggested  to  Adams  that  he  should 
wash  the  front  windows;  after  being  gone  a  half 
hour,  to  borrow  a  step-ladder,  he  entered  the  room, 
mounted  the  ladder  and  began.  I  sat  writing.  Sud- 
denly, he  faced  around,  and  addressing  me,  said, 
''Madam,  do  you  believe  in  spiritualism?" 

"Good  gracious !  Adams,  no ;  why  do  you  ask  me 
such  a  question  ?" 

This  was  enough ;  he  proceeded  to  give  a  lecture  on 
the  subject  worthy  of  a  man  higher  up  on  the  ladder 
of  this  life.  I  bade  him  come  to  an  end  as  soon  as  I 
dared  (for  I  was  not  accustomed  to  soldiers),  and 
suggested  that  he  was  forgetting  his  work. 

It  was  early  in  April,  and  the  snow  drifted  through 
the  crevices  of  the  old  dried-out  house,  in  banks  upon 
our  bed ;  but  that  was  soon  mended,  and  things  began 
to  go  smoothly  enough,  when  Jack  was  ordered  to 
join  his  company,  which  was  up  at  the  Spotted  Tail 
Agency.  It  was  expected  that  the  Sioux  under  this 
chief  would  break  out  at  any  minute.  They  had 
become  disaffected  about  some  treaty.  I  did  not  like 
to  be  left  alone  with  the  Spiritualist,  so  Jack  asked 
one  of  the  laundresses,  whose  husband  was  out  with 

29 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

the  company,  to  come  and  stay  and  take  care  of  me. 

Mrs.  Patten  was  an  old  campaigner;  she  under- 
stood everything  about  officers  and  their  ways,  and 
she  made  me  absolutely  comfortable  for  those  two 
lonely  months.  I  always  felt  grateful  to  her;  she 
was  a  dear  old  Irish  woman. 

All  the  families  and  a  few  officers  were  left  at  the 
post,  and,  with  the  daily  drive  to  Cheyenne,  some 
small  dances  and  theatricals,  my  time  was  pleasantly 
occupied. 

Cheyenne  in  those  early  days  was  an  amusing  but 
unattractive  frontier  town;  it  presented  a  great  con- 
trast to  the  old  civilization  I  had  so  recently  left.  We 
often  saw  women  in  cotton  wrappers,  high-heeled 
slippers,  and  sun-bonnets,  walking  in  the  main  streets. 
Cows,  pigs,  and  saloons  seemed  to  be  a  feature  of  the 
place. 

In  about  six  weeks,  the  affairs  of  the  Sioux  were 
settled,  and  the  troops  returned  to  the  post.  The 
weather  began  to  be  uncomfortably  hot  in  those 
low  wooden  houses.  I  missed  the  comforts  of  home 
and  the  fresh  sea  air  of  the  coast,  but  I  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  it. 

Our  sleeping-room  was  very  small,  and  its  one 
window  looked  out  over  the  boundless  prairie  at  the 
back  of  the  post.  On  account  of  the  great  heat,  we 
were  obliged  to  have  this  window  wide  open  at  night. 
I  heard  the  cries  and  wails  of  various  animals,  but 
Jack  said  that  was  nothing — they  always  heard  them. 

30 


ARMY  HOUSE-KEEPING 

Once,  at  midnight,  the  wails  seemed  to  be  nearer, 
and  I  was  terrified ;  but  he  told  me  'twas  only  the  half- 
wild  cats  and  coyotes  which  prowled  around  the  post. 
I  asked  him  if  they  ever  came  in.  "Gracious,  no!" 
he  said;  "they  are  too  wild." 

I  calmed  myself  for  sleep — when  like  lightning,  one 
of  the  huge  creatures  gave  a  flying  leap  in  at  our 
window,  across  the  bed,  and  through  into  the  living- 
room. 

'' Jerusalem  r  cried  the  lieutenant,  and  flew  after 
her,  snatching  his  sword,  which  stood  in  the  corner, 
and  poking  vigorously  under  the  divan. 

I  rolled  myself  under  the  bed-covers,  in  the  most 
abject  terror  lest  she  might  come  back  the  same  way; 
and,  true  enough,  she  did,  with  a  most  piercing  cry. 
I  never  had  much  rest  after  that  occurrence,  as  we 
had  no  protection  against  these  wild-cats. 

The  regiment,  however,  in  June  was  ordered  to 
Arizona,  that  dreaded  and  then  unknown  land,  and 
the  uncertain  future  was  before  me.  I  saw  the  other 
women  packing  china  and  their  various  belongings. 
I  seemed  to  be  helpless.  Jack  was  busy  with  things 
outside.  He  had  three  large  army  chests,  which  were 
brought  in  and  placed  before  me.  "Now,"  he  said, 
"all  our  things  must  go  into  those  chests" — and  I  sup- 
posed they  must. 

I  was  pitifully  ignorant  of  the  details  of  moving, 
and  I  stood  despairingly  gazing  into  the  depths  of 
those  boxes,  when  the  jolly  and  stout  wife  of  Major 

31 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

von  Hermann  passed  my  window.  She  glanced  in, 
comprehended  the  situation,  and  entered,  saying, 
''You  do  not  understand  how  to  pack?  Let  me  help 
you:  give  me  a  cushion  to  kneel  upon — now  bring 
everything  that  is  to  be  packed,  and  I  can  soon  show 
you  how  to  do  it."  With  her  kind  assistance  the 
chests  were  packed,  and  I  found  that  we  had  a  great 
deal  of  surplus  stuff  which  had  to  be  put  into  rough 
cases,  or  rolled  into  packages  and  covered  with  burlap. 
Jack  fumed  when  he  saw  it,  and  declared  we  could 
not  take  it  all,  as  it  exceeded  our  allowance  of  weight. 
I  declared  we  must  take  it,  or  we  could  not  exist. 

With  some  concessions  on  both  sides  we  were  finally 
packed  up,  and  left  Fort  Russell  about  the  middle  of 
June,  with  the  first  detachment,  consisting  of  head- 
quarters and  band,  for  San  Francisco,  over  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad. 

For  it  must  be  remembered,  that  in  1874  there  were 
no  railroads  in  Arizona,  and  all  troops  which  were 
sent  to  that  distant  territory  either  marched  over- 
land through  New  Mexico,  or  were  transported  by 
steamer  from  San  Francisco  down  the  coast,  and  up 
the  Gulf  of  California  to  Fort  Yuma,  from  which 
point  they  marched  up  the  valley  of  the  Gila  to  the 
southern  posts,  or  continued  up  the  Colorado  River  by 
steamer,  to  other  points  of  disembarkation,  whence 
they  marched  to  the  posts  in  the  interior,  or  the 
northern  part  of  the  territory. 

Much  to  my  delight,  we  were  allowed  to  remain 

32 


ARMY  HOUSE-KEEPING 

over  in  San  Francisco,  and  go  down  with  the  second 
detachment.  We  made  the  most  of  the  time,  which 
was  about  a  fortnight,  and  on  the  sixth  of  August  we 
embarked  with  six  companies  of  soldiers,  Lieutenant 
Colonel  Wilkins  in  command,  on  the  old  steamship 
"Newbern,"  Captain  Metzger,  for  Arizona. 

(33) 


CHAPTER    IV 

DOWN  the:  pacific   COAST 

Now  THE  "Newbern''  was  famous  for  being  a  good 
roller,  and  she  lived  up  to  her  reputation.  For 
seven  days  I  saw  only  the  inside  of  our  stateroom. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  we  arrived  off  Cape  St.  Lucas 
(the  extreme  southern  point  of  Lower  California), 
and  I  went  on  deck. 

We  anchored  and  took  cattle  aboard.  I  watched  the 
natives  tow  them  off,  the  cattle  swimming  behind  their 
small  boats,  and  then  saw  the  poor  beasts  hoisted  up 
by  their  horns  to  the  deck  of  our  ship. 

I  thought  it  most  dreadfully  cruel,  but  was  in- 
formed that  it  had  been  done  from  time  immemorial, 
so  I  ceased  to  talk  about  it,  knowing  that  I  could  not 
reform  those  aged  countries,  and  realizing,  faintly 
perhaps  (for  I  had  never  seen  much  of  the  rough 
side  of  life),  that  just  as  cruel  things  were  done  to 
the  cattle  we  consume  in  the  North. 

Now  that  Mr.  Sinclair,  in  his  great  book  '*The 
Jungle,"  has  brought  the  multiplied  horrors  of  the 
great  packing-houses  before  our  very  eyes,  we  might 
witness  the  hoisting  of  the  cattle  over  the  ship's  side 
without  feeling  such  intense  pity,  admitting  that 
everything  is  relative,  even  cruelty. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  August,  and  the  weather 
34 


DOWN  THE  PACIFIC  COAST 

had  become  insufferably  hot,  but  we  were  out  of  the 
long  swell  of  the  Pacific  Ocean ;  we  had  rounded  Cape 
St.  Lucas,  and  were  steaming  up  the  Gulf  of  Cali- 
fornia, towards  the  mouth  of  the  Great  Colorado, 
whose  red  and  turbulent  waters  empty  themselves  into 
this  gulf,  at  its  head. 

I  now  had  time  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
officers  of  the  regiment,  whom  I  had  not  before  met; 
they  had  come  in  from  other  posts  and  joined  the 
command  at  San  Francisco. 

The  daughter  of  the  lieutenant-colonel  was  on  board, 
the  beautiful  and  graceful  Caroline  Wilkins,  the  belle 
of  the  regiment;  and  Major  Worth,  to  whose  company 
my  husband  belonged.  I  took  a  special  interest  in 
the  latter,  as  I  knew  we  must  face  life  together  in  the 
wilds  of  Arizona.  I  had  time  to  learn  something 
about  the  regiment  and  its  history;  and  that  Major 
Worth's  father,  whose  monument  I  had  so  often  seen 
in  New  York,  was  the  first  colonel  of  the  Eighth 
Infantry,  when  it  was  organized  in  the  State  of  New 
York  in  1838. 

The  party  on  board  was  merry  enough,  and  even 
gay.  There  was  Captain  Ogilby,  a  great,  genial 
Scotchman,  and  Captain  Porter,  a  graduate  of  Dublin, 
and  so  charmingly  witty.  He  seemed  very  devoted  to 
Miss  Wilkins,  but  Miss  Wilkins  was  accustomed  to 
the  devotion  of  all  the  officers  of  the  Eighth  Infantry. 
In  fact,  it  was  said  that  every  young  lieutenant  who 
joined  the  regiment  had  proposed  to  her.     She  was 

35 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

most  attractive,  and  as  she  had  too  kind  a  heart  to 
be  a  coquette,  she  was  a  universal  favorite  with  the 
women  as  well  as  with  the  men. 

There  was  Ella  Bailey,  too,  Miss  Wilkins'  sister, 
with  her  young  and  handsome  husband  and  their 
young  baby. 

Then,  dear  Mrs.  Wilkins,  who  had  been  so  many 
years  in  the  army  that  she  remembered  crossing  the 
plains  in  a  real  ox-team.  She  represented  the  best 
type  of  the  older  army  woman — and  it  was  so  lovely 
to  see  her  with  her  two  daughters,  all  in  the  same 
regiment.  A  mother  of  grown-up  daughters  was  not 
often  met  with  in  the  army. 

And  Lieutenant-Colonel  Wilkins,  a  gentleman  in 
the  truest  sense  of  the  word — a  man  of  rather  quiet 
tastes,  never  happier  than  when  he  had  leisure  for 
indulging  his  musical  taste  in  strumming  all  sorts  of 
Spanish  fandangos  on  the  guitar,  or  his  somewhat 
marked  talent  with  the  pencil  and  brush. 

The  heat  of  the  staterooms  compelled  us  all  to  sleep 
on  deck,  so  our  mattresses  were  brought  up  by  the 
soldiers  at  night,  and  spread  about.  The  situation, 
however,  was  so  novel  and  altogether  ludicrous,  and 
our  fear  of  rats  which  ran  about  on  deck  so  great, 
that  sleep  was  well-nigh  out  of  the  question. 

Before  dawn,  we  fled  to  our  staterooms,  but  by  sun- 
rise we  were  glad  to  dress  and  escape  from  their 
suffocating  heat  and  go  on  deck  again.  Black  coffee 
and  hard-tack  were  sent  up,  and  this   sustained  us 

36 


DOWN  THE  PACIFIC  COAST 

until  the  nine-o'clock  breakfast,  which  was  elaborate, 
but  not  good.  There  was  no  milk,  of  course,  except 
the  heavily  sweetened  sort,  wHich  I  could  not  use:  it 
was  the  old-time  condensed  and  canned  milk;  the 
meats  were  beyond  everything,  except  the  poor,  tough, 
fresh  beef  we  had  seen  hoisted  over  the  side,  at  Cape 
St.  Lucas.  The  butter,  poor  at  the  best,  began  to 
pour  like  oil.  Black  coffee  and  bread,  and  a  baked 
sweet  potato,  seemed  the  only  things  that  I  could 
swallow. 

The  heat  in  the  Gulf  of  California  was  intense. 
Our  trunks  were  brought  up  from  the  vessel's  hold, 
and  we  took  out  summer  clothing.  But  how  inade- 
quate and  inappropriate  it  was  for  that  climate !  Our 
faces  burned  and  blistered;  even  the  parting  on  the 
head  burned,  under  the  awnings  which  were  kept 
spread.  The  ice-supply  decreased  alarmingly,  the 
meats  turned  green,  and  when  the  steward  went  down 
into  the  refrigerator,  which  was  somewhere  below  the 
quarter-deck,  to  get  provisions  for  the  day,  every 
woman  held  a  bottle  of  s^lts  to  her  nose,  and  the 
officers  fled  to  the  forward  part  of  the  ship.  The 
odor  which  ascended  from  that  refrigerator  was  inde- 
scribable: it  lingered  and  would  not  go.  It  followed 
us  to  the  table,  and  when  we  tasted  the  food  we  tasted 
the  odor.  We  bribed  the  steward  for  ice.  Finally, 
I  could  not  go  bclo^v  at  all,  but  had  a  baked  sweet 
potato  brought  on  deck,  and  lived  several  days  upon 
that  diet. 

37 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

On  the  14th  of  August  we  anchored  off  Mazatlan,  a 
picturesque  and  ancient  adobe  town  in  old  Mexico. 
The  approach  to  this  port  was  strikingly  beautiful. 
Great  rocks,  cut  by  the  surf  into  arches  and  caverns, 
guarded  the  entrance  to  the  harbor.  We  anchored 
two  miles  out.  A  customs  and  a  Wells-Fargo  boat 
boarded  us,  and  many  natives  came  along  side,  bring- 
ing fresh  cocoanuts,  bananas,  and  limes.  Some  Mexi- 
cans bound  for  Guaymas  came  on  board,  and  a  troupe 
of  Japanese  jugglers. 

While  we  were  unloading  cargo,  some  officers  and 
their  wives  went  on  shore  in  one  of  the  ship's  boats, 
and  found  it  a  most  interesting  place.  It  was  gar- 
risoned by  Mexican  troops,  uniformed  in  white  cotton 
shirts  and  trousers.  They  visited  the  old  hotel,  the 
amphitheatre  where  the  bull-fights  were  held,  and  the 
old  fort.  They  told  also  about  the  cock-pits — and 
about  the  refreshing  drinks  they  had. 

My  thirst  began  to  be  abnormal.  We  bought  a 
dozen  cocoanuts,  and  I  drank  the  milk  from  them,  and 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  ashore  at  the  next  port ;  for 
after  nine  days  with  only  thick  black  coffee  and  bad 
warm  water  to  drink,  I  was  longing  for  a  cup  of 
good  tea  or  a  glass  of  fresh,  sweet  milk. 

A  day  or  so  more  brought  us  to  Guaymas,  another 
Mexican  port.  Mrs.  Wilkins  said  she  had  heard 
something  about  an  old  Spaniard  there,  who  used  to 
cook  meals  for  stray  travellers.  This  was  enough. 
I  was  desperately  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  we  decided 

38 


DOWN  THE  PACIFIC  COAST. 

to  try  and  find  him.  Mrs.  Wilkins  spoke  a  little 
Spanish,  and  by  dint  of  inquiries  we  found  the  man's 
house,  a  little  old,  forlorn,  deserted-looking  adobe 
casa. 

We  rapped  vigorously  upon  the  old  door,  and  after 
some  minutes  a  small,  withered  old  man  appeared. 

Mrs.  Wilkins  told  him  what  we  wanted,  but  this 
ancient  Delmonico  declined  to  serve  us,  and  said, 
in  Spanish,  the  country  was  "a  desert'';  he  had 
"nothing  in  the  house";  he  had  "not  cooked  a  meal 
in  years";  he  could  not;  and,  finally,  he  would  not; 
and  he  gently  pushed  the  door  to  in  our  faces.  But 
we  did  not  give  it  up,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  continued 
to  persuade.  I  mustered  what  Spanish  I  knew,  and 
told  him  I  would  pay  him  any  price  for  a  cup  of  coffee 
with  fresh  milk.  He  finally  yielded,  and  told  us  to 
return  in  one  hour. 

So  we  walked  around  the  little  deserted  town.  I 
could  think  only  of  the  breakfast  we  were  to  have  in 
the  old  man's  casa.  And  it  met  and  exceeded  our 
wildest  anticipations,  for,  just  fancy !  We  were  served 
with  a  delicious  bouillon,  then  chicken,  perfectly 
cooked,  accompanied  by  some  dish  flavored  with  chile 
verdcy  creamy  biscuit,  fresh  butter,  and  golden  coffee 
with  milk.  There  were  three  or  four  women  and 
several  officers  in  the  party,  and  we  had  a  merry 
breakfast.  We  paid  the  old  man  generously,  thanked 
him  warmly,  and  returned  to  the  ship,   fortified  to 

39 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

endure  the  sight  of  all  the  green  ducks  that  came 
out  of  the  lower  hold. 

You  must  remember  that  the  '^Newbern"  was  a 
small  and  old  propeller,  not  fitted  up  for  passengers, 
and  in  those  days  the  great  refrigerating  plants  were 
unheard  of.  The  women  who  go  to  the  Philippines 
on  our  great  transports  of  to-day  cannot  realize  and 
will  scarcely  believe  what  we  endured  for  lack  of  ice 
and  of  good  food  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  voyage 
down  the  Pacific  coast  and  up  the  Gulf  of  California 
in  the  summer  of  1874. 

(40) 


CHAPTER    V 

THE  SLUE 

At  i,ast,  after  a  voyage  of  thirteen  days,  we  came 
to  anchor  a  mile  or  so  off  Port  Isabel,  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Colorado  River.  A  narrow  but  deep  slue  runs 
up  into  the  desert  land,  on  the  east  side  of  the  river's 
mouth,  and  provides  a  harbor  of  refuge  for  the  flat- 
bottomed  stern-wheelers  which  meet  the  ocean  steamers 
at  this  point.  Hurricanes  are  prevalent  at  this  sea- 
son in  the  Gulf  of  California,  but  we  had  been 
fortunate  in  not  meeting  with  any  on  the  voyage. 
The  wind  now  freshened,  however,  and  beat  the  waves 
into  angry  foam,  and  there  we  lay  for  three  days  on 
the  "Newbern,"  off  Port  Isabel,  before  the  sea  was 
calm  enough  for  the  transfer  of  troops  and  baggage  to 
the  lighters. 

This  was  excessively  disagreeable.  The  wind  was 
like  a  breath  from  a  furnace;  it  seemed  as  though 
the  days  would  never  end,  and  the  wind  never  stop 
blowing.  Jack's  official  diary  says:  "One  soldier 
died  to-day." 

Finally,  on  the  fourth  day,  the  wind  abated,  and 
the  transfer  was  begun.  We  boarded  the  river  steam- 
boat ''Cocopah,"  towing  a  barge  loaded  with  soldiers, 
and  steamed  away  for  the  slue.  I  must  say  that  we 
welcomed  the  change  with  delight.  Towards  the  end 
of  the  afternoon  the  "Cocopah"  put  her  nose  to  the 

41 


VANISHED  ARIZpNA 

sffore  and  tied  up.  It  seemed  strange  not  to  see  piers 
and  docks,  nor  even  piles  to  tie  to.  Anchors  were 
taken  ashore  and  the  boat  secured  in  that  manner: 
there  being  no  trees  of  sufficient  size  to  make  fast 
to. 

The  soldiers  went  into  camp  on  shore.  The  heat 
down  in  that  low,  flat  place  was  intense.  Another 
man  died  that  night. 

What  was  our  chagrin,  the  next  morning,  to  learn 
that  we  must  go  back  to  the  ''Newbern,"  to  carry 
some  freight  from  up-river.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  stay  on  board  and  tow  that  dreary  barge, 
filled  with  hot,  red,  baked-looking  ore,  out  to  the 
ship,  unload,  and  go  back  up  the  slue.  Jack's  diary 
records :  "Aug.  23rd.  Heat  awful.  Pringle  died  to- 
day.'' He  was  the  third  soldier  to  succumb.  It 
seemed  to  me  their  fate  was  a  hard  one.  To  die, 
down  in  that  wretched  place,  to  be  rolled  in  a  blanket 
and  buried  on  those  desert  shores,  with  nothing  but 
a  heap  of  stones  to  mark  their  graves. 

The  adjutant  of  the  battalion  read  the  burial  service, 
and  the  trumpeters  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  graves 
and  sounded  ''Taps,"  which  echoed  sad  and  melan- 
choly far  over  those  parched  and  arid  lands.  My 
'  eyes  filled  with  tears,  for  one  of  the  soldiers  was  from 
our  own  company,  and  had  been  kind  to  me. 

Jack  said:  ''You  musn't  cry,  Mattie;  it's  a  sol- 
dier's life,  and  when  a  man  enlists  he  must  take  his 
chances." 

42 


THE  SLUE 

"Yes,  but/'  I  said,  "somewhere  there  must  be  a 
mother  or  sister,  or  some  one  who  cares  for  these  poor 
men,  and  it's  all  so  sad  to  think  of." 

"Well,  I  know  it  is  sad,"  he  replied,  soothingly, 
"but  listen!  It  is  all  over,  and  the  burial  party  is 
returning." 

I  listened  and  heard  the  gay  strains  of  "The  girl 
I  left  behind  me,"  which  the  trumpeters  were  playing 
with  all  their  might.  "You  see,"  said  Jack,  "it 
would  not  do  for  the  soldiers  to  be  sad  when  one  of 
them  dies.  Why,  it  would  demoralize  the  whole  com- 
mand. So  they  play  these  gay  things  to  cheer  them 
up." 

And  I  began  to  feel  that  tears  must  be  out  of  place 
at  a  soldier's  funeral.  I  attended  many  a  one  after 
that,  but  I  had  too  much  imagination,  and  in  spite 
of  all  my  brave  efforts,  visions  of  the  poor  boy's 
mother  on  some  little  farm  in  Missouri  or  Kansas 
perhaps,  or  in  some  New  England  town,  or  possibly 
in  the  old  country,  would  come  before  me,  and  my 
heart  was  filled  with  sadness. 

The  Post  Hospital  seemed  to  me  a  lonesome  place 
to  die  in,  although  the  surgeon  and  soldier  attendants 
were  kind  to  the  sick  men.  There  were  no  women 
nurses  in  the  army  in  those  days. 

The  next  day,  the  "Cocopah"  started  again  and 
towed  a  barge  out  to  the  ship.  But  the  hot  wind 
sprang  up  and  blew  fiercely,  and  we  lay  off  and  on 
all  day,  until  it  was  calm  enough  to  tow  her  back  to 

43 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

the  slue.  By  that  time  I  had  about  given  up  all  hope 
of  getting  any  farther,  and  if  the  weather  had  only 
been  cooler  I  could  have  endured  with  equanimity  the 
idle  life  and  knocking  about  from  the  ship  to  the 
slue,  and  from  the  slue  to  the  ship.  But  the  heat  was 
unbearable.  We  had  to  unpack  our  trunks  again  and 
get  out  heavy-soled  shoes,  for  the  zinc  which  covered 
the  decks  of  these  river-steamers  burned  through  the 
thin  slippers  we  had  worn  on  the  ship. 

That  day  we  had  a  little  diversion,  for  we  saw  the 
''Gila''  come  down  the  river  and  up  the  slue,  and  tie 
up  directly  alongside  of  us.  She  had  on  board  and  in 
barges  four  companies  of  the  Twenty-third  Infantry, 
who  were  going  into  the  States.  We  exchanged 
greetings  and  visits,  and  from  the  great  joy  mani- 
fested by  them  all,  I  drew  my  conclusions  as  to  what 
lay  before  us,  in  the  dry  and  desolate  country  we  were 
about  to  enter. 

The  women's  clothes  looked  ridiculously  old-fash- 
ioned, and  I  wondered  if  I  should  look  that  way  when 
my  time  came  to  leave  Arizona. 

Little  cared  they,  those  women  of  the  Twenty- 
third,  for,  joy  upon  joys!  They  saw  the  ''Newbern" 
out  there  in  the  offing,  waiting  to  take  them  back  to 
green  hills,  and  to  cool  days  and  nights,  and  to  those 
they  had  left  behind,  three  years  before. 

On  account  of  the  wind,  which  blew  again  with 
great  violence,  the  ''Cocopah"  could  not  leave  the  slue 
that  day.     The  officers  and  soldiers  were  desperate 

44 


THE  SLUE 

for  something  to  do.  So  they  tried  fishing,  and 
caught  some  ''croakers/'  which  tasted  very  fresh  and 
good,  after  all  the  curried  and  doctored-up  messes 
we  had  been  obliged  to  eat  on  board  ship. 

We  spent  seven  days  in  and  out  of  that  slue. 
Finally,  on  August  the  26th,  the  wind  subsided  and 
we  started  up  river.  Towards  sunset  we  arrived  at  a 
place  called  ''Old  Soldier's  Camp."  There  the 
'Gila"  joined  us,  and  the  command  was  divided  be- 
tween the  two  river-boats.  We  were  assigned  to  the 
"Gila,"  and  I  settled  myself  down  with  my  belong- 
ings, for  the  remainder  of  the  journey  up  river. 

We  resigned  ourselves  to  the  dreadful  heat,  and  at 
the  end  of  two  more  days  the  river  had  begun  to 
narrow,  and  we  arrived  at  Fort  Yuma,  which  was  at 
that  time  the  post  best  known  to,  and  most  talked 
about  by  army  officers  of  any  in  Arizona.  No  one 
except  old  campaigners  knew  much  about  any  other 
post  in  the  Territory. 

It  was  said  to  be  the  very  hottest  place  that  ever 
existed,  and  from  the  time  we  left  San  Francisco  we 
had  heard  the  story,  oft  repeated,  of  the  poor  soldier 
who  died  at  Fort  Yuma,  and  after  awhile  returned  to 
beg  for  his  blankets,  having  found  the  regions  of 
Pluto  so  much  cooler  than  the  place  he  had  left.  But 
the  fort  looked  pleasant  to  us,  as  we  approached.  It 
lay  on  a  high  mesa  to  the  left  of  us  and  there  was  a 
little  green  grass  where  the  post  was  built. 

None  of  the  officers  knew  as  yet  their  destination, 

45 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  I  found  myself  wishing  it  might  be  our  good 
fortune  to  stay  at  Fort  Yuma.  It  seemed  such  a 
friendly  place. 

Lieutenant  Haskell,  Twelfth  Infantry,  who  was 
stationed  there,  came  down  to  the  boat  to  greet  us, 
and  brought  us  our  letters  from  home.  He  then  ex- 
tended his  gracious  hospitality  to  us  all,  arranging 
for  us  to  come  to  his  quarters  the  next  day  for  a  meal, 
and  dividing  the  party  as  best  he  could  accommodate 
us.  It  fell  to  our  lot  to  go  to  breakfast  with  Major 
and  Mrs.  Wells  and  Miss  Wilkins. 

An  ambulance  was  sent  the  next  morning,  at  nine 
o'clock,  to  bring  us  up  the  steep  and  winding  road, 
white  with  heat,  which  led  to  the  fort. 

I  can  never  forget  the  taste  of  the  oatmeal  with 
fresh  milk,  the  eggs  and  butter,  and  delicious  toma- 
toes, which  were  served  to  us  in  his  latticed  dining- 
room. 

After  twenty-three  days  of  heat  and  glare,  and 
scorching  winds,  and  stale  food.  Fort  Yuma  and 
Mr.  Haskell's  dining-room  seemed  like  Paradise. 

Of  course  it  was  hot;  it  was  August,  and  we  ex- 
pected it.  But  the  heat  of  those  places  can  be  much 
alleviated  by  the  surroundings.  There  were  shower 
baths,  and  latticed  piazzas,  and  large  ollas  hanging  in 
the  shade  of  them,  containing  cool  water.  Yuma  was 
only  twenty  days  from  San  Francisco,  and  they  were 
able  to  get  many  things  direct  by  steamer.  Of  course 
there  was  no  ice,   and  butter  was  kept  only  by  in- 

46 


THE  SLUE 

genious  devices  of  the  Chinese  servants;  there  were 
but  few  vegetables,  but  what  was  to  be  had  at  all  in 
that  country,  was  to  be  had  at  Fort  Yuma. 

We  staid  one  more  day,  and  left  two  companies  of 
the  regiment  there.  When  we  departed,  I  felt,  some- 
how, as  though  we  were  saying  good-bye  to  the  world 
and  civilization,  and  as  our  boat  clattered  and  tugged 
away  up  river  with  its  great  wheel  astern,  I  could  not 
help  looking  back  longingly  to  old  Fort  Yuma. 

(47) 


CHAPTER    VI 

UP  THE  RIO  COI.ORADO 

And  now  began  our  real  journey  up  the  Colorado 
River,  that  river  unknown  to  me  except  in  my  early 
geography  lessons — that  mighty  and  untamed  river, 
which  is  to-day  unknown  except  to  the  explorer,  or 
the  few  people  who  have  navigated  its  turbulent 
waters.  Back  in  memory  was  the  picture  of  it  on  the 
map;  here  was  the  reality,  then,  and  here  we  were, 
on  the  steamer  "Gila,''  Captain  Mellon,  with  the 
barge  full  of  soldiers  towing  on  after  us,  starting  for 
Fort  Mojave,  some  two  hundred  miles  above. 

The  vague  and  shadowy  foreboding  that  had  flut- 
tered through  my  mind  before  I  left  Fort  Russell  had 
now  also  become  a  reality  and  crowded  out  every 
other  thought.  The  river,  the  scenery,  seemed,  after 
all,  but  an  illusion,  and  interested  me  but  in  a  dreamy 
sort  of  way. 

We  had  staterooms,  but  could  not  remain  in 
them  long  at  a  time,  on  account  of  the  intense  heat. 
I  had  never  felt  such  heat,  and  no  one  else  ever  had 
or  has  since.  The  days  were  interminable.  We 
wandered  around  the  boat,  first  forward,  then  aft,  to 
find  a  cool  spot.  We  hung  up  our  canteens  (covered 
with  flannel  and  dipped  in  water),  where  they  would 
swing  in  the  shade,  thereby  obtaining  water  which 

48 


UP  THE  RIO  COLORADO. 

was  a  trifle  cooler  than  the  air.  There  was  no  ice, 
and  consequently  no  fresh  provisions.  A  Chinaman 
served  as  steward  and  cook,  and  at  the  ringing  of  a 
bell  we  all  went  into  a  small  saloon  back  of  the  pilot- 
house, where  the  meals  were  served.  Our  party  at 
table  on  the  "Gila"  consisted  of  several  unmarried 
officers,  and  several  officers  with  their  wives,  about 
eight  or  nine  in  all,  and  we  could  have  had  a  merry 
time  enough  but  for  the  awful  heat,  which  destroyed 
both  our  good  looks  and  our  tempers.  The  fare  was 
meagre,  of  course;  fresh  buscuit  without  butter,  very 
salt  boiled  beef,  and  some  canned  vegetables,  which 
were  poor  enough  in  those  days.  Pies  made  from 
preserved  peaches  or  plums  generally  followed  this 
delectable  course.  Chinamen,  as  we  all  know,  can 
make  pies  under  conditions  that  would  stagger  most 
chefs.  They  may  have  no  marble  pastry-slab,  and  the 
lard  may  run  like  oil,  still  they  can  make  pies  that 
taste  good  to  the  hungry  traveller. 

But  that  dining-room  was  hot !  The  metal  handles 
of  the  knives  were  uncomfortably  warm  to  the  touch ; 
and  even  the  wooden  arms  of  the  chairs  felt  as  if  they 
were  slowly  igniting.  After  a  hasty  meal,  and  a  few 
remarks  upon  the  salt  beef,  and  the  general  misery  of 
our  lot,  we  would  seek  some  spot  which  might  be  a 
trifle  cooler.  A  siesta  was  out  of  the  question,  as  the 
staterooms  were  insufferable;  and  so  we  dragged  out 
the  weary  days. 

At  sundown  the  boat  put  her  nose  up  to  the  bank 

49 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  tied  up  i^f  the  night.  The  soldiers  left  the 
barges  and  went  into  camp  on  shore,  to  cook  their 
suppers  and  to  sleep.  The  banks  of  the  river  offered 
no  very  attractive  spot  upon  which  to  make  a  camp; 
they  were  low,  flat,  and  covered  with  underbrush  and 
arrow-weed,  which  grew  thick  to  the  water's  edge.  I 
always  found  it  interesting  to  watch  the  barge  unload 
the  men  at  sundown. 

At  twilight  some  of  the  soldiers  came  on  board  and 
laid  our  mattresses  side  by  side  on  the  after  deck. 
Pajamas  and  loose  gowns  were  soon  en  evidence^  but 
nothing  mattered,  as  they  were  no  electric  lights  to 
disturb  us  with  their  glare.  Rank  also  mattered  not; 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Wilkins  and  his  wife  lay  down  to 
rest,  with  the  captains  and  lieutenants  and  their 
wives,  wherever  their  respective  strikers  had  placed 
their  mattresses  (for  this  was  the  good  old  time  when 
the  soldiers  were  allowed  to  wait  upon  officers' 
families). 

Under  these  circumstances,  much  sleep  was  not  to 
be  thought  of ;  the  sultry  heat  by  the  river  bank,  and 
the  pungent  smell  of  the  arrow-weed  which  lined  the 
shores  thickly,  contributed  more  to  stimulate  than  to 
soothe  the  weary  nerves.  But  the  glare  of  the  sun 
was  gone,  and  after  awhile  a  stillness  settled  down 
upon  this  company  of  Uncle  Sam's  servants  and  their 
followers.  (In  the  Army  Regulations,  wives  are  not 
rated  except  as  ''camp  followers.") 

But  even  this  short  respite  from  the  glare  of  the 

50 


UP  THE  RIO  COLORADO 

sun  was  soon  to  end ;  for  before  the  crack  of  dawn,  or, 
as  it  seemed  to  us,  shortly  after  midnight,  came  such  a 
clatter  with  the  fires  and  the  high-pressure  engine  and 
the  sparks,  and  what  all  they  did  in  that  wild  and  reck- 
less land,  that  further  rest  was  impossible,  and  we 
betook  ourselves  with  our  mattresses  to  the  staterooms^ 
for  another  attempt  at  sleep,  which,  however,  meant 
only  failure,  as  the  sun  rose  incredibly  early  on  that 
river,  and  we  were  glad  to  take  a  hasty  sponge  from  a 
basin  of  rather  thick  looking  river-water,  and  go  again 
out  on  deck,  where  we  could  always  get  a  cup  of  black 
coffee  from  the  Chinaman. 

And  thus  began  another  day  of  intolerable  glare 
and  heat.  Conversation  lagged;  no  topic  seemed  to 
have  any  interest  except  the  thermometer,  which  hung 
in  the  coolest  place  on  the  boat;  and  one  day  when 
Major  Worth  looked  at  it  and  pronounced  it  one 
hundred  and  twenty-two  in  the  shade,  a  grim  despair 
seized  upon  me,  and  I  wondered  how  much  more 
heat  human  beings  could  endure.  There  was  nothing 
to  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  scenery.  On  each  side 
of  us,  low  river  banks,  and  nothing  between  those 
and  the  horizon  line.  On  our  left  was  Lower  *  Cali- 
fornia, and  on  our  right,  Arizona.  Both  appeared  to 
be  deserts. 

*This  term  is  here  used  (as  we  used  it  at  Ehrenberg)  to 
designate  the  low,  fiat  lands  west  of  the  river,  without  any 
reference  to  Lower  California  proper, — the  long  peninsula 
belonging  to  Mexico. 

51 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

As  the  river  narrowed,  however,  the  trip  began  to 
be  enlivened  by  the  constant  danger  of  getting 
aground  on  the  shifting  sand-bars  which  are  so  numer- 
ous in  this  mighty  river.  Jack  Mellon  was  then  the 
most  famous  pilot  on  the  Colorado,  and  he  was  very 
skilful  in  steering  clear  of  the  sand-bars,  skimming 
over  them,  or  working  his  boat  ofif,  when  once  fast 
upon  them.  The  deck-hands,  men  of  a  mixed  Indian 
and  Mexican  race,  stood  ready  with  long  poles,  in 
the  bow,  to  jump  overboard,  when  we  struck  a  bar, 
and  by  dint  of  pushing,  and  reversing  the  engine,  the 
boat  would  swing  off. 

On  approaching  a  shallow  place,  they  would  sound 
with  their  poles,  and  in  a  sing-song  high-pitched  tone 
drawl  out  the  number  of  feet.  Sometimes  their 
sleepy  drawling  tones  would  suddenly  cease,  and  cry- 
ing loudly,  ''No  alii  aguaT  they  would  swing  them- 
selves over  the  side  of  the  boat  into  the  river,  and 
begin  their  strange  and  intricate  manipulations  with 
the  poles.  Then,  again,  they  would  carry  the  anchor 
away  off  and  by  means  of  great  spars,  and  some 
method  too  complicated  for  me  to  describe.  Captain 
Mellon  would  fairly  lift  the  boat  over  the  bar. 

But  our  progress  was  naturally  much  retarded,  and 
sometimes  we  were  aground  an  hour,  sometimes  a 
half  day  or  more.  Captain  Mellon  was  always  cheer- 
ful. River  steamboating  was  his  life,  and  sand-bars 
were  his  excitement.  On  one  occasion,  I  said,  ^'Oh! 
Captain,  do  you  think  we  shall  get  off  this  bar  to- 

52 


UP  THE  RIO  COLORADO 

day?''  'Well,  you  can't  tell,"  he  said,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye;  ''one  trip,  I  lay  fifty-two  days  on 
a  bar,"  and  then,  after  a  short  pause,  "but  that 
don't  happen  very  often;  we  sometimes  lay  a  week, 
though;  there  is  no  telling;  the  bars  change  all  the 
time." 

Sometimes  the  low  trees  and  brushwood  on  the 
banks  parted,  and  a  young  squaw  would  peer  out  at 
us.  This  was  a  little  diversion,  and  picturesque 
besides.  They  wore  very  short  skirts  made  of 
stripped  bark,  and  as  they  held  back  the  branches  of 
the  low  willows,  and  looked  at  us  with  curiosity,  they 
made  pictures  so  pretty  that  I  have  never  forgotten 
them.  We  had  no  kodaks  then,  but  even  if  we  had 
had  them,  they  could  not  have  reproduced  the  fine 
copper  color  of  those  bare  shoulders  and  arms,  the 
soft  wood  colors  of  the  short  bark  skirts,  the  gleam 
of  the  sun  upon  their  blue-black  hair,  and  the 
turquoise  color  of  the  wide  bead-bands  which  encir- 
cled their  arms. 

One  morning,  as  I  was  trying  to  finish  out  a  nap 
in  my  stateroom.  Jack  came  excitedly  in  and  said: 
"Get  up,  Martha,  we  are  coming  to  Ehrenberg!" 
Visions  of  castles  on  the  Rhine,  and  stories  of  the 
middle  ages  floated  through  my  mind,  as  I  sprang  up, 
in  pleasurable  anticipation  of  seeing  an  interesting 
and  beautiful  place.  Alas !  for  my  ignorance.  I  saw 
but  a  row  of  low  thatched  hovels,  perched  on  the  edge 
of  the  ragged  looking  river-bank;  a  road  ran  length- 

53 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

wise  along,  and  opposite  the  hovels  I  saw  a  store  and 
some  more  mean-looking  huts  of  adobe. 

^^Oh!  Jack!"  I  cried,  ^'and  is  that  Ehrenberg?  Who 
on  earth  gave  such  a  name  to  the  wretched  place?" 

''Oh,  some  old  German  prospector,  I  suppose;  but 
never  mind,  the  place  is  all  right  enough.  Come! 
Hurry  up!  We  are  going  to  stop  here  and  land 
freight.  There  is  an  officer  stationed  here.  See  those 
low  white  walls?  That  is  where  he  lives.  Captain 
Bernard  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry.  It's  quite  a  place; 
come  out  and  see  it." 

But  I  did  not  go  ashore.  Of  all  dreary,  miserable- 
looking  settlements  that  one  could  possibly  imagine, 
that  was  the  worst.  An  unfriendly,  dirty,  and  Heaven- 
forsaken  place,  inhabited  by  a  poor  class  of  Mexicans 
and  half-breeds.  It  was,  however,  an  important  ship- 
ping station  for  freight  which  was  to  be  sent  overland 
to  the  interior,  and  there  was  always  one  army  officer 
stationed  there. 

Captain  Bernard  came  on  board  to  see  us.  I  did 
not  ask  him  how  he  liked  his  station ;  it  seemed  to  me 
too  satirical;  like  asking  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  for 
instance,  how  he  liked  his  dungeon. 

I  looked  over  towards  those  low  white  walls,  which 
enclosed  the  Government  corral  and  the  habitation  of 
this  officer,  and  thanked  my  stars  that  no  such  dread- 
ful detail  had  come  to  my  husband.  I  did  not  dream 
that  in  less  than  a  year  this  exceptionally  hard  fate 
was  to  be  my  own. 

54 


UP  THE  RIO   COLORADO 

We  left  Ehrenberg  with  no  regrets,  and  pushed  on 
up  river. 

On  the  third  of  September  the  boilers  "foamed"  so 
that  we  had  to  tie  up  for  nearly  a  day.  This  was 
caused  by  the  water  being  so  very  muddy.  The  Rio 
Colorado  deserves  its  name,  for  its  swift-flowing 
current  sweeps  by  like  a  mass  of  seething  red  liquid, 
turbulent  and  thick  and  treacherous.  It  was  said  on 
the  river,  that  those  who  sank  beneath  its  surface 
were  never  seen  again,  and  in  looking  over  into  those 
whirlpools  and  swirling  eddies,  one  might  well  believe 
this  to  be  true. 

From  there  on,  up  the  river,  we  passed  through 
great  canons  and  the  scenery  was  grand  enough ;  but 
one  cannot  enjoy  scenery  with  the  mercury  ranging 
from  107  to  122  in  the  shade.  The  grandeur  was 
quite  lost  upon  us  all,  and  we  were  suffocated  by  the 
scorching  heat  radiating  from  those  massive  walls  of 
rocks  between  which  we  puffed  and  clattered  along. 

I  must  confess  that  the  history  of  this  great  river 
was  quite  unknown  to  me  then.  I  had  never  read  of 
the  early  attempts  made  to  explore  it,  both  from  above 
and  from  its  mouth,  and  the  wonders  of  the  ''Grand 
Canon"  were  as  yet  unknown  to  the  world.  I  did  not 
realize  that,  as  we  steamed  along  between  those  high 
perpendicular  walls  of  rock,  we  were  really  seeing 
the  lower  end  of  that  great  chasm  which  now,  thirty 
years  later,  has  become  one  of  the  most  famous  resorts 
of  this  country  and,  in  fact,  of  the  world. 

55 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

There  was  some  mention  made  of  Major  Powell, 
that  daring  adventurer,  who,  a  few  years  previously, 
had  accomplished  the  marvellous  feat  of  going  down 
the  Colorado  and  through  the  Grand  Canon,  in  a  small 
boat,  he  being  the  first  man  who  had  at  that  time  ever 
accomplished  it,  many  men  having  lost  their  lives  in 
the  attempt. 

At  last,  on  the  8th  of  September,  we  arrived  at 
Camp  Mojave,  on  the  right  bank  cf  the  river;  a  low, 
square  enclosure,  on  the  low  level  of  the  flat  land 
near  the  river.  It  seemed  an  age  since  we  had  left 
Yuma  and  twice  an  age  since  we  had  left  the  mouth 
of  the  river.  But  it  was  only  eighteen  days  in  all,  and 
Captain  Mellon  remarked:  "A  quick  trip!"  and  con- 
gratulated us  on  the  good  luck  we  had  had  in  not 
being  detained  on  the  sandbars.  "Great  Heavens,'' 
I  thought,  "if  that  is  what  they  call  a  quick  trip!" 
But  I  do  not  know  just  what  I  thought,  for  those 
eighteen  days  on  the  Great  Colorado  in  midsummer, 
had  burned  themselves  into  my  memory,  and  I  made 
an  inward  vow  that  nothing  would  ever  force  me 
into  such  a  situation  again.  I  did  not  stop  to  really 
think;  I  only  felt,  and  my  only  feeling  was  a  desire 

Dellenbaugh,  who  was  with  Powell  in  1869  in  his  second 
expedition  down  the  river  in  small  boats,  has  given  to 
the  world  a  most  interesting  account  of  this  wonderful  river 
and  the  canons  through  which  it  cuts  its  tempestuous  way 
to  the  Gulf  of  California,  in  two  volumes  entitled  **The 
Romance  of  the  Great  Colorado''  and  *'A  Canon  Voyage ". 

56 


UP  THE  RIO  COLORADO 

to  get  cool  and  to  get  out  of  the  Territory  in  some 
other  way  and  at  some  cooler  season.  How  futile 
a  wish,  and  how  futile  a  vow ! 

We  bade  good-bye  to  our  gallant  river  captain  and 
watched  the  great  stern-wheeler  as  she  swung  out 
into  the  stream,  and,  heading  up  river,  disappeared 
around  a  bend ;  for  even  at  that  tnne  this  venturesome 
pilot  had  pushed  his  boat  farther  up  than  any  other 
steam-craft  had  ever  gone,  and  we  heard  that  there 
were  terrific  rapids  and  falls  and  unknown  mysteries 
above.  The  superstition  of  centuries  hovered  over 
the  ''great  cut,"  and  but  few  civilized  beings  had 
looked  down  into  its  awful  depths.  Brave,  dashing, 
handsome  Jack  Mellon !  What  would  I  give  and  what 
would  we  all  give,  to  see  thee  once  more,  thou  Wizard 
of  the  Great  Colorado ! 

We  turned  our  faces  towards  the  Mojave  desert, 
and  I  wondered,  what  next? 

The  Post  Surgeon  kindly  took  care  of  us  for  two 
days  and  nights,  and  we  slept  upon  the  broad  piazzas 
of  his  quarters. 

We  heard  no  more  the  crackling  and  fizzing  of  the 
stern-wheeler's  high-pressure  engines  at  daylight,  and 
our  eyes,  tired  with  gazing  at  the  red  whirlpools  of 
the  river,  found  relief  in  looking  out  upon  the  grey- 
white  flat  expanse  which  surrounded  Fort  Mojave, 
and  mergqd  itself  into  the  desert  beyond. 

(57) 


CHAPTER  VII 
the:  mojave  desert 

Thou  white  and  dried-up  sea!   so  old! 
So  strewn  with  wealth,  so  sown  with  gold! 
Yes,   thou   art   old   and  hoary  white 
With    time    and    ruin    of    all    things, 
And   on   thy   lonesome   borders   Night 
Sits  brooding  o'er  with  drooping  wings. 

—JOAQUIN    MILLER. 

The  country  had  grown  steadily  more  unfriendly 
ever  since  leaving  Fort  Yuma,  and  the  surroundings 
of  Camp  Mojave  were  dreary  enough. 

But  we  took  time  to  sort  out  our  belongings,  and 
the  officers  arranged  for  transportation  across  the 
Territory.  Some  had  bought,  in  San  Francisco,  com- 
fortable travelling-carriages  for  their  families.  They 
were  old  campaigners ;  they  knew  a  thing  or  two  about 
Arizona;  we  lieutenants  did  not  know,  we  had  never 
heard  much  about  this  part  of  our  country.  But  a 
comfortable  large  carriage,  known  as  a  Dougherty 
wagon,  or,  in  common  army  parlance,  an  ambulance, 
was  secured  for  me  to  travel  in.  This  vehicle  had  a 
large  body,  with  two  seats  facing  each  other,  and  a 
seat  outside  for  the  driver.  The  inside  of  the  wagon 
could  be  closed  if  desired  by  canvas  sides  and  back 
which  rolled  up  and  down,  and  by  a  curtain  which 

58 


,^^.i«f1^''^^;?'.^^l*^^w 


'Jack"  Mellon,  the  Famous  Pilot 
of  the  Colorado  River,  1875. 


THE  MOJAVE  DESERT 

dropped  behind  the  driver's  seat.  So  I  was  enabled 
to  have  some  degree  of  privacy,  if  I  wished. 

We  repacked  our  mess-chest,  and  bought  from  the 
Commissary  at  Mojave  the  provisions  necessary  for 
the  long  journey  to  Fort  Whipple,  which  was  the 
destination  of  one  of  the  companies  and  the  head- 
quarters officers. 

On  the  morning  of  September  loth  everything  in 
the  post  was  astir  with  preparations  for  the  first 
march.  It  was  now  thirty- five  days  since  we  left  San 
Francisco,  but  the  change  from  boat  to  land  travelling 
offered  an  agreeable  diversion  after  the  monotony  of 
the  river.  I  watched  with  interest  the  loading  of  the 
great  prairie-schooners,  into  which  went  the  soldiers' 
boxes  and  the  camp  equipage.  Outside  was  lashed  a 
good  deal  of  the  lighter  stuff;  I  noticed  a  barrel  of 
china,  which  looked  much  like  our  own,  lashed  directly 
over  one  wheel.  Then  there  were  the  massive  blue 
army  wagons,  which  were  also  heavily  loaded;  the 
laundresses  with  their  children  and  belongings  were 
placed  in  these. 

At  last  the  commarid  moved  out.  It  was  to  me  a 
novel  sight.  The  wagons  and  schooners  were  each 
drawn  by  teams  of  six  heavy  mules,  while  a  team  of 
six  lighter  mules  was  put  to  each  ambulance  and 
carriage.  These  were  quite  different  from  the 
draught  animals  I  had  always  seen  in  the  Eastern 
States;  these  Government  mules  being  sleek,  well-fed 
and  trained  to  trot  as  fast  as  the  average  carriage- 

59 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

horse.  The  harnesses  were  quite  smart,  being  trim- 
med off  with  white  ivory  rings.  Each  mule  was 
"Lize"  or  "Fanny"  or  ''Kate'',  and  the  soldiers 
who  handled  the  lines  were  accustomed  to  the  work; 
for  work,  and  arduous  work,  it  proved  to  be,  as  we 
advanced  into  the  then  unknown  Territory  of  Arizona. 

The  main  body  of  the  troops  marched  in  advance; 
then  came  th6  ambulances  and  carriages,  followed  by 
the  baggage-wagons  and  a  small  rear-guard.  When 
the  troops  were  halted  once  an  hour  for  rest,  the 
officers,  who  marched  with  the  soldiers,  would  come  to 
the  ambulances  and  chat  awhile,  until  the  bugle  call 
for  "Assembly"  sounded,  when  they  would  join  their 
commands  again,  the  men  would  fall  in,  the  call  "For- 
ward" was  sounded,  and  the  small-sized  army  train 
moved  on. 

The  first  day's  march  was  over  a  dreary  country; 
a  hot  wind  blew,  and  everything  was  filled  with  dust. 
I  had  long  ago  discarded  my  hat,  as  an  unnecessary 
and  troublesome  article;  consequently  my  head  was 
now  a  mass  of  fine  white  dust,  which  stuck  fast,  of 
course.  I  was  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  it,  and 
it  would  not  shake  off,  so,  although  our  steamboat 
troubles  were  over,  our  land  troubles  had  begun. 

We  reached,  after  a  few  hours'  travel,  the  desolate 
place  where  we  were  to  camp. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  had  been  arranged  for  Major 
Worth,  who  had  no  family,  to  share  our  mess,  and 
we  had  secured  the  services  of  a  soldier  belonging  to 

60 


THE  MOJAVE  DESERT 

his  company  whose  ability  as  a  camp  cook  was  known 
to  both  officers. 

I  cannot  say  that  Hfe  in  the  army,  as  far  as  I  had 
gone,  presented  any  very  great  attractions.  This,  our 
first  camp,  was  on  the  river,  a  Httle  above  Hardyville. 
Good  water  was  there,  and  that  was  all ;  I  had  not  yet 
learned  to  appreciate  that.  There  was  not  a  tree  nor 
a  shrub  to  give  shade.  The  only  thing  I  could  see, 
except  sky  and  sand,  was  a  ruined  adobe  enclosure, 
with  no  roof.  I  sat  in  the  ambulance  until  our  tent 
was  pitched,  and  then  Jack  came  to  me,  followed  by 
a  six-foot  soldier,  and  said:  ''Mattie,  this  is  Bowen, 
our  striker ;  now  I  want  you  to  tell  him  what  he  shall 
cook  for  our  supper;  and — don't  you  think  it  would 
be  nice  if  you  could  show  him  how  to  make  some  of 
those  good  New  England  doughnuts?  I  think  Major 
Worth  might  like  them;  and  after  all  the  awful  stuff 
we  have  had,  you  know,"  et  ccetera,  et  ccetera.  I  met 
the  situation,  after  an  inward  struggle,  and  said, 
weakly,  ''Where  are  the  eggs?"  "Oh,"  said  he,  ''you 
don't  need  eggs;  you're  on  the  frontier  now;  you 
must  learn  to  do  without  eggs." 

Everything  in  me  rebelled,  but  still  I  yielded.  You 
see  I  had  been  married  only  six  months ;  the  women 
at  home,  and  in  Germany  also,  had  always  shown 
great  deference  to  their  husbands'  wishes.  But  at 
that  moment  I  almost  wished  Major  Worth  and  Jack 
and  Bowen  and  the  mess-chest  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Rio   Colorado.     However,   I  nerved  myself   for  the 

6i 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

effort,  and  when  Bowen  had  his  camp-fire  made,  he 
came  and  called  me. 

At  the  best,  I  never  had  much  confidence  in  my 
ability  as  a  cook,  but  as  a  camp  cook!  Ah,  me! 
Everything  seemed  to  swim  before  my  eyes,  and  I 
fancied  that  the  other  women  were  looking  at  me  from 
their  tents.  Bowen  was  very  civil,  turned  back  the 
cover  of  the  mess-chest  and  propped  it  up.  That  was 
the  table.  Then  he  brought  me  a  tin  basin,  and  some 
flour,  some  condensed  milk,  some  sugar,  and  a  rolling- 
pin,  and  then  he  hung  a  camp-kettle  with  lard  in  it 
over  the  fire.  I  stirred  up  a  mixture  in  the  basin, 
but  the  humiliation  of  failure  was  spared  me,  for  just 
then,  without  warning,  came  one  of  those  terrific  sand- 
storms which  prevail  on  the  deserts  of  Arizona,  blow- 
ing us  all  before  it  in  its  fury,  and  filling  everything 
vv/ith  sand. 

We  all  scurried  to  the  tents;  some  of  them  had 
f'lown  down.  There  was  not  much  shelter,  but  the 
storm  was  soon  over,  and  we  stood  collecting  our  scat- 
tered senses.  I  saw  Mrs.  Wilkins  at  the  door  of  her 
tent.  She  beckoned  to  me;  I  went  over  there,  and 
she  said:  "Now,  my  dear,  I  am  going  to  give  you 
some  advice.  You  must  not  take  it  unkindly.  I  am 
an  old  army  woman  and  I  have  made  many  cam- 
paigns with  the  Colonel;  you  have  but  just  joined  the 
army.  You  must  never  try  to  do  any  cooking  at  the 
camp-fire.  The  soldiers  are  there  for  that  work,  and 
they  know  lots  more  about  it  than  any  of  us  do." 

62 


THE  MOJAVE  DESERT 

''But,  Jack,"  I  began— 

''Never  mind  Jack,''  said  she;  "he  does  not  know 
as  much  as  I  do  about  it;  and  when  you  reach  your 
post/'  she  added,  "you  can  show  him  what  you  can 
do  in  that  Hne." 

Bowen  cleared  away  the  sandy  remains  of  the 
doubtful  dough,  and  prepared  for  us  a  very  fair 
supper.  Soldiers'  bacon,  and  coffee,  and  biscuits 
baked  in  a  Dutch  oven. 

While  waiting  for  the  sun  to  set,  we  took  a  short 
stroll  over  to  the  adobe  ruins.  Inside  the  enclosure 
lay  an  enormous  rattlesnake,  coiled.  It  was  the  first 
one  I  had  ever  seen  except  in  a  cage,  and  I  was  fas- 
cinated by  the  horror  of  the  round,  greyish-looking 
heap,  so  near  the  color  of  the  sand  on  which  it  lay. 
Some  soldiers  came  and  killed  it.  But  I  noticed  that 
Bowen  took  extra  pains  that  night,  to  spread  buffalo 
robes  under  our  mattresses,  and  to  place  around  them 
a  hair  lariat.  "Snakes  won't  cross  over  thatj'  he 
said,  with  a  grin. 

Bowen  was  a  character.  Originally  from  some  farm 
in  Vermont,  he  had  served  some  years  with  the 
Eighth  Infantry,  and  for  a  long  time  in  the  same 
company  under  Major  Worth,  and  had  cooked  for  the 
bachelors'  mess.  He  was  very  tall,  and  had  a  good- 
natured  face,  but  he  did  not  have  much  opinion  of 
what  is  known  as  etiquette,  either  military  or  civil ;  he 
seemed  to  consider  himself  a  sort  of  protector  to  the 
officers  of  Company  K,  and  now,  as  well^  to  the  woman 

63 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

who  had  joined  the  company.  He  took  us  all  under 
his  wing,  as  it  were,  and  although  he  had  to  be 
sharply  reprimanded  sometimes,  in  a  kind  of  language 
which  he  seemed  to  expect,  he  was  allowed  more  lati- 
tude than  most  soldiers. 

This  was  my  first  night  under  canvas  in  the  army. 
I  did  not  like  those  desert  places,  and  they  grew 
to  have  a  horror  for  me. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  cook's  call 
sounded,  the  mules  were  fed,  and  the  crunching  and 
the  braying  were  something  to  awaken  the  heaviest 
sleepers.  Bowen  called  us.  I  was  much  upset  by 
the  dreadful  dust,  which  was  thick  upon  everything 
I  touched.  We  had  to  hasten  our  toilet,  as  they  were 
striking  tents  and  breaking  camp  early,  in  order  to 
reach  before  noon  the  next  place  where  there  was 
water.  Sitting  on  camp-stools,  around  the  mess-tables, 
in  the  open,  before  the  break  of  day,  we  swallowed 
some  black  coffee  and  ate  some  rather  thick  slices  of 
bacon  and  dry  bread.  The  Wilkins'  tent  was  near 
ours,  and  I  said  to  them,  rather  peevishly:  "Isn't 
this  dust  something  awful?" 

Miss  Wilkins  looked  up  with  her  sweet  smile  and 
gentle  manner  and  replied:  ''Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Sum- 
merhayes,  it  is  pretty  bad,  but  you  must  not  worry 
about  such  a  little  thing  as  dust." 

''How  can  I  help  it?"  I  said;  "my  hair,  my  clothes, 
everything  full  of  it,  and  no  chance  for  a  bath  or  a 
change:  a  miserable  little  basin  of  water  and " 

64 


THE  MOJAVE  DESERT 

I  suppose  I  was  running  on  with  all  my  grievances, 
but  she  stopped  me  and  said  again:  "Soon,  now,  you 
will  not  mind  it  at  all.  Ella  and  I  are  army  girls, 
you  know,  and  we  do  not  mind  anything.  There's  no 
use  in  fretting  about  little  things." 

Miss  Wilkins'  remarks  made  a  tremendous  impres- 
sion upon  my  mind  and  I  began  to  study  her 
philosophy. 

At  break  of  day  the  command  marched  out,  their 
rifles  on  their  shoulders,  swaying  along  ahead  of  us, 
in  the  sunlight  and  the  heat,  which  continued  still 
to  be  almost  unendurable.  The  dry  white  dust  of 
this  desert  country  boiled  and  surged  up  and  around 
us  in  suffocating  clouds. 

I  had  my  own  canteen  hung  up  in  the  ambulance, 
but  the  water  in  it  got  very  warm  and  I  learned  to 
take  but  a  swallow  at  a  time,  as  it  could  not  be  refilled 
until  we  reached  the  next  spring — and  there  is  always 
some  uncertainty  in  Arizona  as  to  whether  the  spring 
or  basin  has  gone  dry.  So  water  was  precious,  and 
we  could  not  afford  to  waste  a  drop. 

At  about  noon  we  reached  a  forlorn  mud  hut, 
known  as  Packwood's  ranch.  But  the  place  had  a 
bar,  which  was  cheerful  for  some  of  the  poor  men, 
as  the  two  days'  marches  had  been  rather  hard  upon 
them,  being  so  "soft"  from  the  long  voyage.  I  could 
never  begrudge  a  soldier  a  bit  of  cheer  after  the  hard 
marches  in  Arizona,  through  miles  of  dust  and  burn- 
ing heat,  their  canteens  long  emptied  and  their  lips 

65 


k 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

parched  and  dry.  I  watched  them  often  as  they 
marched  along  with  their  blanket-rolls,  their  haver- 
sacks, and  their  rifles,  and  I  used  to  wonder  that  they 
did  not  complain. 

About  that  time  the  greatest  luxury  in  the  entire 
world  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  glass  of  fresh  sweet  milk, 
and  I  shall  always  remember  Mr.  Packwood's  ranch, 
because  we  had  milk  to  drink  with  our  supper,  and 
some  delicious  quail  to  eat. 

Ranches  in  that  part  of  Arizona  meant  only  low 
adobe  dwellings  occupied  by  prospectors  or  men  who 
kept  the  relays  of  animals  for  stage  routes.  Wretched, 
forbidding-looking  places  they  were !  Never  a  tree  or 
a  bush  to  give  shade,  never  a  sign  of  comfort  or 
home. 

Our  tents  were  pitched  near  Packwood's,  out  in 
the  broiling  sun.  They  were  like  ovens ;  there  was  no 
shade,  no  coolness  anywhere;  we  would  have  gladly 
slept,  after  the  day's  march,  but  instead  we  sat  broil- 
ing in  the  ambulances,  and  waited  for  the  long  after- 
noon to  wear  away. 

The  next  day  dragged  along  in  the  same  manner; 
the  command  marching  bravely  along  through  dust 
and  heat  and  thirst,  as  Kipling's  soldier  sings : 

''With  its  best  foot  first 
And    the    road    a-sliding   past, 
An'  every  bloomin'  c  ampin '-ground 
Exactly  like  the  last''. 

66 


THE  MOJAVE  DESERT 

Beal's  Springs  did  not  differ  from  the  other  ranch, 
except  that  possibly  it  was  even  more  desolate.  But 
a  German  lived  there,  who  must  have  had  some 
knowledge  of  cooking,  for  I  remember  that  we  bought 
a  peach  pie  from  him  and  ate  it  with  a  relish.  I 
remember,  too,  that  we  gave  him  a  good  silver  dollar 
for  it. 

The  only  other  incident  of  that  day's  march  was 
the  suicide  of  Major  Worth's  pet  dog  'Tete."  Hav- 
ing exhausted  his  ability  to  endure,  this  beautiful  red 
setter  fixed  his  eye  upon  a  distant  range  of  mountains, 
and  ran  without  turning,  or  heeding  any  call,  straight 
as  the  crow  flies,  towards  them  and  death.  We  never 
saw  him  again;  a  ranchman  told  us  he  had  known 
of  several  other  instances  where  a  well-bred  dog  had 
given  up  in  this  manner,  and  attempted  to  run  for 
the  hills.  We  had  a  large  greyhound  with  us,  but 
he  did  not  desert. 

Major  Worth  was  much  affected  by  the  loss  of  his 
dog,  and  did  not  join  us  at  supper  that  night.  We 
kept  a  nice  fat  quail  for  him,  however,  and  at  about 
nine  o'clock,  when  all  was  still  and  dark.  Jack 
entered  the  Major's  tent  and  said:  "Come  now, 
Major,  my  wife  has  sent  you  this  nice  quail;  don't 
give  up  so  about  Pete,  you  know." 

The  Major  lay  upon  his  camp-bed,  with  his  face 
turned  to  the  wall  of  his  tent;  he  gave  a  deep  sigh, 
rolled  himself  over  and  said:    ''Well,  put  it  on  the 

67 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

table,  and  light  the  candle;  Til  try  to  eat  it.  Thank 
your  wife  for  me." 

So  the  Lieutenant  made  a  light,  and  lo!  and  behold, 
the  plate  was  there,  but  the  quail  was  gone!  In  the 
darkness,  our  great  kangaroo  hound  had  stolen  noise- 
lessly upon  his  master's  heels,  and  quietly  removed 
the    bird.         The    two    officers    were    dumbfounded. 

Major  Worth  said:  ''D n  my  luck;"  and  turned 

his  face  again  to  the  wall  of  his  tent. 

Now  Major  Worth  was  just  the  dearest  and  gentlest 
sort  of  a  man,  but  he  had  been  born  and  brought  up 
in  the  old  army,  and  everyone  knows  that  times  and 
customs  were  different  then. 

Men  drank  more  and  swore  a  good  deal,  and  while 
I  do  not  wish  my  story  to  seem  profane,  yet  I  would 
not  describe  army  life  or  the  officers  as  I  knew  them, 
if  I  did  not  allow  the  latter  to  use  an  occasional 
strong  expression. 

The  incident,  however,  served  to  cheer  up  the 
Major,  though  he  continued  to  deplore  the  loss  of  his 
beautiful  dog. 

For  the  next  two  days  our  route  lay  over  the 
dreariest  and  most  desolate  country.  It  was  not  only 
dreary,  it  was  positively  hostile  in  its  attitude  towards 
every  living  thing  except  snakes,  centipedes  and 
spiders.  They  seemed  to  flourish  in  those  surroundings 

Sometimes  either  Major  Worth  or  Jack  would  come 
and  drive  along  a  few  miles  in  the  ambulance  with 
me  to  cheer  me  up,  and  they  allowed  me  to  abuse  the 

68 


MOJAVE     DESERT. 

country  to  my  heart's  content.  It  seemed  to  do  me 
much  good.  The  desert  was  new  to  me  then.  I  had 
not  read  Pierre  Loti's  wonderful  book,  'Xe  Desert/' 
and  I  did  not  see  much  to  admire  in  the  desolate 
waste  lands  through  which  we  were  travelling.  I  did 
not  dream  of  the  power  of  the  desert,  nor  that  I 
should  ever  long  to  see  it  again.  But  as  I  write,  the 
longing  possesses  me,  and  the  pictures  then  indelibly 
printed  upon  my  mind,  long  forgotten  amidst  the 
scenes  and  events  of  half  a  lifetime,  unfold  themselves 
like  a  panorama  before  my  vision  and  call  me  to  come 
back,  to  look  upon  them  once  more. 

(69) 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I^EARNING   HOW  TO   SOI.DIER 

''The  grasses  failed,  and  then  a  mass 

Of  dry  red  cactus  ruled  the  land: 

The   sun  rose  right  above  and  fell, 

As  falling  molten  from  the  skies. 

And  no  winged  thing  was  seen  to  pass." 

—JOAQUIN    MILLER. 

We)  made  fourteen  miles  the  next  day,  and  went 
into  camp  at  a  place  called  Freeze-wash,  near  some 
old  silver  mines.  A  bare  and  lonesome  spot,  where 
there  was  only  sand  to  be  seen,  and  some  black, 
burnt-looking  rocks.  From  under  these  rocks,  crept 
lizards,  snakes,  and  great  tarantulas,  not  forgetting 
the  scorpion,  which  ran  along  with  its  tail  turned  up, 
ready  to  sting  anything  that  came  in  its  way.  The 
place  furnished  good  water,  however,  and  that  was 
now  the  most  important  thing. 

The  next  day's  march  was  a  long  one.  The  guides 
said:  "Twenty-eight  miles  to  Willow  Grove  Springs. '* 

The  command  halted  ten  minutes  every  hour  for 
rest,  but  the  sun  poured  down  upon  us,  and  I  was  glad 
to  stay  in  the  ambulance.  It  was  at  these  times  that 
my  thoughts  turned  back  to  the  East  and  to  the  blue 
sea  and  the  green  fields  of  God's  country.  I  looked 
out  at  the  men,  who  were  getting  pretty  well  fagged, 

70 


LEARNING  HOW  TO  SOLDIER 

and  at  the  young  officers  whose  uniforms  were  white 
with  dust,  and  Frau  Weste's  words  about  glaenzendes 
Blend  came  to  my  mind.  I  fell  to  thinking:  was  the 
army  life,  then,  only  "glittering  misery,"  and  had  1 
come  to  participate  in  it? 

Some  of  the  old  soldiers  had  given  out,  and  had  to 
be  put  on  the  army  wagons.  I  was  getting  to  look 
rather  fagged  and  seedy,  and  was  much  annoyed  at 
my  appearance.  Not  being  acquainted  with  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  desert,  I  had  not  brought  in  my 
travelling-case  a  sufficient  number  of  thin  wash- 
bodices.  The  few  I  had  soon  became  black  beyond 
recognition,  as  the  dust  boiled  (literally)  up  and  into 
the  ambulance  and  covered  me  from  head  to  foot. 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  no  one  was  much 
better  off. 

It  was  about  that  time  that  we  began  to  see  the  out- 
lines of  a  great  mountain  away  to  the  left  and  north 
of  us.  It  seemed  to  grow  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
fascinated  our  gaze. 

Willow  Grove  Springs  was  reached  at  four  o'clock, 
and  the  small  cluster  of  willow  trees  was  most  refresh- 
ing to  our  tired  eyes.  The  next  day's  march  was 
over  a  rolling  country.  We  began  to  see  grass,  and 
to  feel  that,  at  last,  we  were  out  of  the  desert.  The 
wonderful  mountain  still  loomed  up  large  and  clear 
on  our  left.  I  thought  of  the  old  Spanish  explorers, 
and  wondered  if  they  came  so  far  as  this,  when  they 
journeyed  through  that  part  of  our  country  three 

71 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

hundred  years  before.  I  wondered  what  beautiful 
and  high-sounding  name  they  might  have  given  it. 
I  wondered  a  good  deal  about  that  bare  and  isolated 
mountain,  rising  out  of  what  seemed  an  endless  waste 
of  sand.  I  asked  the  driver  if  he  knew  the  name 
of  it :  "That  is  Bill  Williams'  mountain,  ma'am,''  he 
replied,  and  relapsed  into  his  customary  silence,  which 
was  unbroken  except  by  an  occasional  remark  to  the 
wheelers  or  the  leaders. 

I  thought  of  the  Harz  Mountains,  which  I  had  so 
recently  tramped  over,  and  the  romantic  names  and 
legends  connected  with  them,  and  I  sighed  to  think 
such  an  imposing  landmark  as  this  should  have  such 
a  prosiac  name.  I  realized  that  Arizona  was  not  a 
land  of  romance;  and  when  Jack  came  to  the  am- 
bulance, I  said,  "Don't  you  think  it  a  pity  that  such 
monstrous  things  are  allowed  in  America,  as  to  call 
that  great  fine  mountain  'Bill  WilHams'  mountain'?" 

"Why  no,"  he  said;  "I  suppose  he  discovered  it,, 
and  I  dare  say  he  had  a  hard  enough  time  before  he 
got  to  it." 

We  camped  at  Port  Rock,  and  Lieutenant  Bailey 
shot  an  antelope.  It  was  the  first  game  we  had  seen ; 
our  spirits  revived  a  bit;  the  sight  of  green  grass 
and  trees  brought  new  life  to  us. 

Anvil  Rock  and  old  Camp  Hualapais  were  our  next 
two  stopping  places.  We  drove  through  groves  of 
oaks,  cedars  and  pines,  and  the  days  began  hope- 
fully and  ended  pleasantly.     To  be  sure,  the  roads 

72 


LEARNING  HOW  TO  SOLDIER 

were  very  rough  and  our  bones  ached  after  a  long 
day's  travelling.  But  our  tents  were  now  pitched 
under  tall  pine  trees  and  looked  inviting.  Soldiers 
have  a  knack  of  making  a  tent  attractive. 

'' Madame,  the  Lieutenant's  compliments,  and  your 
tent  is  ready." 

I  then  alighted  and  found  my  little  home  awaiting 
me.  The  tent-flaps  tied  open,  the  mattresses  laid,  the 
blankets  turned  back,  the  camp-table  with  candle-stick 
upon  it,  and  a  couple  of  camp-chairs  at  the  door  of 
the  tent.  Surely  it  is  good  to  be  in  the  army  I  then 
thought;  and  after  a  supper  consisting  of  soldiers' 
hot  biscuit,  antelope  steak  broiled  over  the  coals,  and 
a  large  cup  of  black  coffee,  I  went  to  rest,  listening 
to  the  soughing  of  the  pines. 

My  mattress  was  spread  always  upon  the  ground, 
with  a  buffalo  robe  under  it  and  a  hair  lariat  around 
it,  to  keep  off  the  snakes ;  as  it  is  said  they  do  not  like 
to  cross  them.  I  found  the  ground  more  comfortable 
than  the  camp  cots  which  were  used  by  some  of  the 
officers,  and  most  of  the  women. 

The  only  Indians  we  had  seen  up  to  that  time  were 
the  peacefu  tribes  of  the  Yumas,  Cocopahs  and  Mo- 
javes,  who  lived  along  the  Colorado.  We  had  not  yet 
entered  the  land  of  the  dread  Apache. 

The  nights  were  now  cool  enough,  and  I  never  knew 
sweeter  rest  than  came  to  me  in  the  midst  of  those 
pine  groves. 

Our   road  was  gradually  turning   southward,    but 

n 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

for  some  days  Bill  Williams  was  the  predominating 
feature  of  the  landscape;  turn  whichever  way  we 
might,  still  this  purple  mountain  was  before  us.  It 
seemed  to  pervade  the  entire  country,  and  took  on 
such  wonderful  pink  colors  at  sunset.  Bill  Williams 
held  me  in  thrall,  until  the  hills  and  valleys  in  the 
vicinity  of  Fort  Whipple  shut  him  out  from  my  sight. 
But  he  seemed  to  have  come  into  my  life  somehow, 
and  in  spite  of  his  name,  I  loved  him  for  the  com- 
panionship he  had  given  me  during  those  long,  hot, 
weary  and  interminable  days. 

About  the  middle  of  September,  we  arrived  at 
American  ranch,  some  ten  miles  from  Fort  Whipple, 
which  was  the  headquarters  station.  Colonel  Wilkins 
and  his  family  left  us,  and  drove  on  to  their  destina- 
tion. Some  officers  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  rode  out  to 
greet  us,  and  Lieutenant  Earl  Thomas  asked  me  to 
come  into  the  post  and  rest  a  day  or  two  at  their 
house,  as  we  then  had  learned  that  K  Company  was 
to  march  on  to  Camp  Apache,  in  the  far  eastern  part 
of  the  Territory  . 

We  were  now  enabled  to  get  some  fresh  clothing 
from  our  trunks,  which  were  in  the  depths  of  the 
prairie-schooners,  and  all  the  officers'  wives  were  glad 
to  go  into  the  post,  where  we  were  most  kindly  enter- 
tained. Fort  Whipple  was  a  very  gay  and  hospitable 
post,  near  the  town  of  Prescott,  which  was  the  capital 
city  of  Arizona.  The  country  being  mountainous  and 
fertile,  the  place  was  very  attractive,  and  I  felt  sorry 

74 


LEARNING  HOW  TO  SOLDIER 

that  we  were  not  to  remain  there.  But  I  soon  learned 
that  in  the  army,  regrets  were  vain.  I  soon  ceased  to 
ask  myself  whether  I  was  sorry  or  glad  at  any  change 
in  our  stations. 

On  the  next  day  the  troops  marched  in,  and  camped 
outside  the  post.  The  married  officers  were  able  to 
join  their  wives,  and  the  three  days  we  spent  there 
were  delightful.  There  was  a  dance  given,  several 
informal  dinners,  drives  into  the  town  of  Prescott, 
and  festivities  of  various  kinds.  General  Crook  com- 
manded the  Department  of  Arizona  then ;  he  was  out 
on  some  expedition,  but  Mrs.  Crook  gave  a  pleasant 
dinner  for  us.  After  dinner,  Mrs.  Crook  came  and 
sat  beside  me,  asked  kindly  about  our  long  journey, 
and  added:  '1  am  truly  sorry  the  General  is  away; 
I  should  like  for  him  to  meet  you;  you  are  just  the 
sort  of  woman  he  likes."  A  few  years  afterwards  I 
met  the  General,  and  remembering  this  remark,  I  was 
conscious  of  making  a  special  effort  to  please.  The 
indifferent  courtesy  with  which  he  treated  me,  how- 
ever, led  me  to  think  that  women  are  often  mistaken 
judges  of  their  husband's  tastes. 

The  officers'  quarters  at  Fort  Whipple  were  quite 
commodious,  and  after  seven  weeks'  continuous  trav- 
elling, the  comforts  which  surrounded  me  at  Mrs. 
Thomas'  home  seemed  like  the  veriest  luxuries.  I 
was  much  affected  by  the  kindness  shown  me  by 
people  I  had  never  met  before,  and  I  kept  wondering 
if  I  should  ever  have  an  opportunity  to  return  their 

75 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

courtesies.  *'Don't  worry  about  that,  Martha,"  said 
Jack,  "your  turn  will  come." 

He  proved  a  true  prophet,  for  sooner  or  later,  I 
saw  them  all  again,  and  was  able  to  extend  to  them 
the  hospitality  of  an  army  home.  Nevertheless,  my 
heart  grows  warm  whenever  I  think  of  the  people  who 
first  welcomed  me  to  Arizona,  me  a  stranger  in  the 
army,  and  in  the  great  southwest  as  well. 

At  Fort  Whipple  we  met  also  some  people  we  had 
known  at  Fort  Russell,  who  had  gone  down  with  the 
first  detachment,  among  them  Major  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
helm,  who  were  to  remain  at  headquarters.  We  bade 
good-bye  to  the  Colonel  and  his  family,  to  the  officers 
of  F,  who  were  to  stay  behind,  and  to  our  kind  friends 
of  the  Fifth  Cavalry. 

We  now  made  a  fresh  start,  with  Captain  Ogilby 
in  command.  Two  days  took  us  into  Camp  Verde, 
which  lies  on  a  mesa  above  the  river  from  which  it 
takes  its  name. 

Captain  Brayton,  of  the  Eight  Infantry,  and  his 
wife,  who  were  already  settled  at  Camp  Verde,  re- 
ceived us  and  took  the  best  care  of  us.  Mrs.  Brayton 
gave  me  a  few  more  lessons  in  army  house-keeping, 
and  I  could  not  have  had  a  better  teacher.  I  told 
her  about  Jack  and  the  tinware;  her  bright  eyes 
snapped,  and  she  said:  "Men  think  they  know  every- 
thing, but  the  truth  is,  they  don't  know  anything; 
you  go  right  ahead  and  have  all  the  tinware  and  other 
things;  all  you  can  get,  in  fact;  and  when  the  time 

76 


LEARNING  HOW  TO  SOLDIER 

comes  to  move,  send  Jack  out  of  the  house,  get  a 
soldier  to  come  in  and  pack  you  up,  and  say  nothing 
about  it/' 

''But  the  weight—" 

''Fiddlesticks!  They  all  say  that;  now  you  just 
not  mind  their  talk,  but  take  all  you  need,  and  it  will 
get  carried  along,  somehow." 

Still  another  company  left  our  ranks,  and  remained 
at  Camp  Verde.  The  command  was  now  getting  de- 
plorably small,  I  thought,  to  enter  an  Indian  country, 
for  we  were  now  to  start  for  Camp  Apache.  Several 
routes  were  discussed,  but,  it  being  quite  early  in  the 
autumn,  and  the  Apache  Indians  being  just  then  com- 
paratively quiet,  they  decided  to  march  the  troops 
over  Crook's  Trail,  which  crossed  the  Mogollon  range 
and  was  considered  to  be  shorter  than  any  other.  It 
was  all  the  same  to  me.  I  had  never  seen  a  map  of 
Arizona,  and  never  heard  of  Crook's  Trail.  Maps 
never  interested  me,  and  I  had  not  read  much  about 
life  in  the  Territories.  At  that  time,  the  history  of 
our  savage  races  was  a  blank  page  to  me.  I  had  been 
listening  to  the  stories  of  an  old  civilization,  and 
my  mind  did  not  adjust  itself  readily  to  the  new 
surroundings. 

(77) 


CHAPTER    IX 

ACROSS  THE  MOGOI^IvONS 

It  was  a  fine  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  Sep- 
tember, when  our  small  detachment,  with  Captain 
Ogilby  in  command,  marched  out  of  Camp  Verde. 
There  were  two  companies  of  soldiers,  numbering 
about  a  hundred  men  in  all,  five  or  six  officers,  Mrs. 
Bailey  and  myself,  and  a  couple  of  laundresses.  I 
cannot  say  that  we  were  gay.  Mrs.  Bailey  had  said 
good-bye  to  her  father  and  mother  and  sister  at  Fort 
Whipple,  and  although  she  was  an  army  girl,  she  did 
not  seem  to  bear  the  parting  very  philosophically. 
Her  young  child,  nine  months  old,  was  with  her,  and 
her  husband,  as  stalwart  and  handsome  an  officer  as 
ever  wore  shoulder-straps.  But  we  were  facing  un- 
known dangers,  in  a  far  country,  away  from  mother, 
father,  sister  and  brother — a  country  infested  with 
roving  bands  of  the  most  cruel  tribe  ever  known,  who 
tortured  before  they  killed.  We  could  not  even  pre- 
tend to  be  gay. 

The  travelling  was  very  difficult  and  rough,  and 
both  men  and  animals  were  worn  out  by  night.  But 
we  were  now  in  the  mountains,  the  air  was  cool  and 
pleasant,  and  the  nights  so  cold  that  we  were  glad  to 
have  a  small  stove  in  our  tents  to  dress  by  in  the 
mornings.    The  scenery  was  wild  and  grand;  in  fact, 

78 


ACROSS  THE  MOGOLLONS 

beyond  all  that  I  had  ever  dreamed  of;  more  than 
that,  it  seemed  so  untrod,  so  fresh,  somehow,  and  I 
do  not  suppose  that  even  now,  in  the  day  of  rail- 
roads and  tourists,  many  people  have  had  the  view  of 
the  Tonto  Basin  which  we  had  one  day  from  the  top 
of  the  Mogollon  range. 

I  remember  thinking,  as  we  alighted  from  our  am- 
bulances and  stood  looking  over  into  the  Basin, 
*' Surely  I  have  never  seen  anything  to  compare  with 
this — but  oh !  would  any  sane  human  being  voluntarily 
go  through  with  what  I  have  endured  on  this  journey, 
in  order  to  look  upon  this  wonderful  scene?" 

The  roads  had  now  become  so  difficult  that  our 
wagon-train  could  not  move  as  fast  as  the  lighter 
vehicles  or  the  troops.  Sometimes  at  a  critical  place 
in  the  road,  where  the  ascent  was  not  only  dangerous, 
but  doubtful,  or  there  was,  perhaps,  a  sharp  turn,  the 
ambulances  waited  to  see  the  wagons  safely  over  the 
pass.  Each  wagon  had  its  six  mules ;  each  ambulance 
had  also  its  quota  of  six. 

At  the  foot  of  one  of  these  steep  places,  the  wagons 
would  halt,  the  teamsters  would  inspect  the  road,  and 
calculate  the  possibilities  of  reaching  the  top;  then, 
furiously  cracking  their  whips,  and  pouring  forth 
volley  upon  volley  of  oaths,  they  would  start  the  team. 
Each  mule  got  its  share  of  dreadful  curses.  I  had 
never  heard  or  conceived  of  any  oaths  like  those. 
They  made  my  blood  fairly  curdle,  and  I  am  not 
speaking  figuratively.    The  shivers  ran  up  and  down 

79 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

my  back,  and  I  half  expected  to  see  those  teamsters 
struck  down  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty. 

For  although  the  anathemas  hurled  at  my  innocent 
head,  during  the  impressionable  years  of  girlhood,  by 
the  pale  and  determined  Congregational  ministers 
with  gold-bowed .  spectacles,  who  held  forth  in  the 
meeting-house  of  my  maternal  ancestry  (all  honor 
to  their  sincerity),  had  taken  little  hold  upon  my 
mind,  still,  the  vital  drop  of  the  Puritan  was  in  my 
blood,  and  the  fear  of  a  personal  God  and  His  wrath 
still  existed,  away  back  in  the  hidden  recesses  of 
my  heart. 

This  swearing  and  lashing  went  on  until  the  heavily- 
loaded  prairie-schooner,  swaying,  swinging,  and  swerv- 
ing to  the  edge  of  the  cut,  and  back  again  to  the 
perpendicular  wall  of  the  mountain,  would  finally 
reach  the  top,  and  pass  on  around  the  bend;,  then 
another  would  do  the  same.  Each  teamster  had  his 
own  particular  variety  of  oaths,  each  mule  had  a 
feminine  name,  and  this  brought  the  swearing  down 
to  a  sort  of  personal  basis.  I  remonstrated  with  Jack, 
but  he  said:  teamsters  always  swore;  "the  mules 
wouldn't  even  stir  to  go  up  a  hill,  if  they  weren't 
sworn  at  like  that." 

By  the  time  we  had  crossed  the  great  Mogollon 
mesa,  I  had  become  accustomed  to  those  dreadful 
oaths,  and  learned  to  admire  the  skill,  persistency  and 
endurance  shown  by  those  rough  teamsters.  I  actu- 
ally got  so  far  as  to  believe  what  Jack  had  told  me 

80 


ACROSS  THE  MOGOLLONS 

about  the  swearing  being  necessary,  for  I  saw  impos- 
sible feats  performed  by  the  combination. 

When  near  camp,  and  over  the  difficult  places,  we 
drove  on  ahead  and  waited  for  the  wagons  to  come 
in.  It  was  sometimes  late  evening  before  tents  could 
be  pitched  and  supper  cooked.  And  oh!  to  see  the 
poor  jaded  animals  when  the  wagons  reached  camp! 
I  could  forget  my  own  discomfort  and  even  hunger, 
when  I  looked  at  their  sad  faces. 

One  night  the  teamsters  reported  that  a  six-mule 
team  had  rolled  down  the  steep  side  of  a  mountain. 
I  did  not  ask  what  became  of  the  poor  faithful  mules ; 
I  do  not  know,  to  this  day.  In  my  pity  and  real 
distress  over  the  fate  of  these  patient  brutes,  I  forgot 
to  inquire  what  boxes  were  on  the  unfortunate  wagon. 

We  began  to  have  some  shooting.  Lieutenant  Bailey 
shot  a  young  deer,  and  some  wild  turkeys,  and  we 
could  not  complain  any  more  of  the  lack  of  fresh  food. 

It  did  not  surprise  us  to  learn  that  ours  was  the 
first  wagon-train  to  pass  over  Crook's  Trail.  For 
miles  and  miles  the  so-called  road  was  nothing  but  a 
clearing,  and  we  were  pitched  and  jerked  from  side  to 
side  of  the  ambulance,  as  we  struck  large  rocks  or 
tree-stumps;  in  some  steep  places,  logs  were  chained 
to  the  rear  of  the  ambulance,  to  keep  it  from  pitching 
forward  onto  the  backs  of  the  mules.  At  such  places 
I  got  out  and  picked  my  way  down  the  rocky  declivity. 

We  now  began  to  hear  of  the  Apache  Indians,  whp 

8l 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

were  always  out,  in  either  large  or  small  bands,  doing 
their  murderous  work. 

One  day  a  party  of  horseman  tore  past  us  at  a 
gallop.  Some  of  them  raised  their  hats  to  us  as  they 
rushed  past,  and  our  officers  recognized  General 
Crook,  but  we  could  not,  in  the  cloud  of  dust,  dis- 
tinguish officers  from  scouts.  All  wore  the  flannel 
shirt,  handkerchief  tied  about  the  neck,  and  broad 
campaign  hat. 

After  supper  that  evening,  the  conversation  turned 
upon  Indians  in  general,  and  Apaches  in  particular. 
We  camped  always  at  a  basin,  or  a  tank,  or  a  hole,  or 
a  spring,  or  in  some  canon,  by  a  creek.  Always  from 
water  to  water  we  marched.  Our  camp  that  night 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  primeval  grove  of  tall  pine 
trees;  verily,  an  untrodden  land.  We  had  a  big 
camp-fire,  and  sat  around  it  until  very  late.  There 
were  only  five  or  six  officers,  and  Mrs.  Bailey  and 
myself. 

The  darkness  and  blackness  of  the  place  were  un- 
canny. We  all  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  Somebody 
said,  "Injuns  would  not  have  such  a  big  fire  as  that.'' 

''No;  you  bet  they  wouldn't,"  was  the  quick  reply 
of  one  of  the  officers. 

Then  followed  a  long  pause ;  we  all  sat  thinking,  and 
gazing  into  the  fire,  which  crackled  and  leaped  into 
fitful  blazes. 

"Our  figures  must  make  a  mighty  good  outline 
against  that  fire,"  remarked  one  of  officers,  non- 
82 


ACROSS  THE  MOGOLLONS 

chalantly;  "I  dare  say  those  stealthy  sons  of  Satan 
know  exactly  where  we  are  at  this  minute/'  he  added. 

''Yes,  you  bet  your  life  they  do !"  answered  one 
of  the  younger  men,  lapsing  into  the  frontiersman's 
language,  from  the  force  of  his  convictions. 

'Xook  behind  you  at  those  trees.  Jack,"  said  Major 
Worth.  ''Can  you  see  anything?  No!  And  if  there 
were  an  Apache  behind  each  one  of  them,  we  should 
never  know  it." 

We  all  turned  and  peered  into  the  black  darkness 
which  surrounded  us. 

Another  pause  followed;  the  silence  was  weird — 
only  the  cracking  of  the  fire  was  heard,  and  the 
mournful  soughing  of  the  wind  in  the  pines. 

Suddenly,  a  crash!  We  started  to  our  feet  and 
faced  around. 

"A  dead  branch,"  said  some  one. 

Major  Worth  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  turning 

to  Jack,  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "D d  if  I  don't  believe 

I'm  getting  nervous,"  and  saying  "good-night,"  he 
walked  towards  his  tent. 

No  element  of  doubt  pervaded  my  mind  as  to  my 
own  state.  The  weird  feeling  of  being  up  in  those 
remote  mountain  passes,  with  but  a  handful  of  soldiers 
against  the  wary  Apaches,  the  mysterious  look  of  those 
black  tree-trunks,  upon  which  flickered  the  uncertain 
light  of  the  camp-fire  now  dying,  and  from  behind 
each  one  of  which  I  imagined  a  red  devil  might  be 
at  that  moment  taking  aim  with  his  deadly  arrow, 

83 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

all  inspired  me  with  fear  such  as  I  had  never  before 
known. 

In  the  cyclone  which  had  overtaken  our  good  ship 
in  mid-Atlantic,  where  we  lay  tossing  about  at  the 
mercy  of  the  waves  for  thiry-six  long  hours,  I  had 
expected  to'  yield  my  body  to  the  dark  and  grewsome 
depths  of  the  ocean.  I  had  almost  felt  the  cold  arms 
of  Death  about  me;  but  compared  to  the  sickening 
dread  of  the  cruel  Apache,  my  fears  then  had  been  as 
naught.  Facing  the  inevitable  at  sea,  I  had  closed  my 
eyes  and  said  good-bye  to  Life.  But  in  this  mys- 
terious darkness,  every  nerve,  every  sense,  was  keenly 
alive  with  terror. 

Several  of  that  small  party  around  the  camp-fire 
have  gone  from  amongst  us,  but  I  venture  to  say  that, 
of  the  few  who  are  left,  not  one  will  deny  that  he 
shared  in  the  vague  apprehension  which  seized  upon 
us. 

Midnight  found  us  still  lingering  around  the  dead 
ashes  of  the  fire.  After  going  to  our  tent.  Jack  saw 
that  I  was  frightened.  He  said:  *'Don't  worry, 
Martha,  an  Apache  never  was  known  to  attack  in  the 
night,''  and  after  hearing  many  repetitions  of  this 
assertion,  upon  which  I  made  him  take  his  oath,  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  bed.  After  our  candle  was 
out,  I  said:  "When  do  they  attack?"  Jack  who,  with 
the  soldiers'  indifiference  to  danger,  was  already  half 
asleep,  replied:  "Just  before  daylight,  usually,  .but 
do  not  worry,  I  say;  there  aren't  any  Injuns  in  this 

84 


ACROSS  THE  MOGOLLONS 

neighborhood.  Why!  Didn't  you  meet  General 
Crook  to-day?  You  ought  to  have  some  sense.  If 
there'd  been  an  Injun  around  here  he  would  have 
cleaned  him  out.  Now  go  to  sleep  and  don't  be 
foolish."  But  I  was  taking  my  first  lessons  in  cam- 
paigning, and  sleep  was  not  so  easy. 

Just  before  dawn,  as  I  had  fallen  into  a  light  slum- 
ber, the  flaps  of  the  tent  burst  open,  and  began 
shaking  violently  to  and  fro.  I  sprang  to  my  feet, 
prepared  for  the  worst.  Jack  started  up:  "What  is 
it?''  he  cried. 

''It  must  have  been  the  wind,  I  think,  but  it  fright- 
ened me,"  I  murmured.  The  Lieutenant  fastened  the 
tent-flaps  together,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  again;  but 
my  heart  beat  fast,  and  I  listened  for  every  sound. 

The  day  gradually  dawned,  and  with  it  my  fears 
of  the  night  were  allayed.  But  ever  after  that.  Jack's 
fatal  answer,  ''Just  before  daylight,"  kept  my  eyes 
wide  open  for  hours  before  the  dawn. 

(85) 


CHAPTER  X 

A  PERIIvOUS  adventure: 

One  i^ine  afternoon,  after  a  march  of  twenty-two 
miles  over  a  rocky  road,  and  finding  our  provisions 
low.  Mr.  Bailey  and  Jack  went  out  to  shoot  wild 
tui*I:( }  3.  As  they  shouldered  their  guns  and  walked 
away.  Captain  Ogilby  called  out  to  them,  "Do  not  go 
too  far  from  camp.'' 

Jack  returned  at  sundown  with  a  pair  of  fine 
turkeys,  but  Bailey  failed  to  come  in.  However,  as 
they  all  knew  him  to  be  an  experienced  woodsman, 
no  one  showed  much  anxiety  until  darkness  had  set- 
tled over  the  camp.  Then  they  began  to  signal,  by 
discharging  their  rifles;  the  officers  went  out  in  vari- 
ous directions,  giving  ''halloos,"  and  firing  at  inter- 
vals, but  there  came  no  sound  of  the  missing  man. 

The  camp  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed.  This  was 
too  dangerous  a  place  for  a  man  to  be  wandering 
around  in  all  night,  and  search-parties  of  soldiers  were 
formed.  Trees  were  burned,  and  the  din  of  rifles, 
constantly  discharged,  added  to  the  excitement.  One 
party  after  another  came  in.  They  had  scoured  the 
country — and  not  a  trace  of  Bailey. 

The  young  wife  sat  in  her  tent,  soothing  her  little 
child;  everybody  except  her,  gave  up  hope;  the  time 
dragged  on ;  our  hearts  grew  heavy ;  the  sky  was  alight 
with  blazing  trees. 

86 


A  PERILOUS  ADVENTURE 

I  went  into  Mrs.  Bailey's  tent.  She  was  calm  and 
altogether  lovely,  and  said:  ''Charley  can't  get  lost, 
and  unless  something  has  happened  to  him,  he  will 
come  in." 

Ella  Bailey  was  a  brave  young  army  woman;  she 
was  an  inspiration  to  the  entire  camp. 

Finally,  after  hours  of  the  keenest  anxiety,  a  noise 
of  gladsome  shouts  rang  through  the  trees,  and  in 
came  a  party  of  men  with  the  young  officer  on  their 
shoulders.  His  friend  Craig  had  been  untiring  in 
the  search,  and  at  last  had  heard  a  faint  ''halloo"  in 
the  distance,  and  one  shot  (the  only  cartridge  poor 
Bailey  had  left). 

After  going  over  almost  impassable  places,  they 
finally  found  him,  lying  at  the  bottom  of  a  ravine. 
In  the  black  darkness  of  the  evening,  he  had  walked 
directly  over  the  edge  of  the  chasm  and  fallen  to  the 
bottom,  dislocating  his  ankle. 

He  was  some  miles  from  camp,  and  had  used  up  all 
his  ammunition  except  the  one  cartridge.  He  had 
tried  in  vain  to  walk  or  even  crawl  out  of  the  ravine, 
but  had  finally  been  overcome  by  exhaustion  and  lay 
there  helpless,  in  the  wild  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 

A  desparate  situation,  indeed!  Some  time  after- 
wards, he  told  me  how  he  felt,  when  he  realized  how 
poor  his  chances  were,  when  he  saw  he  had  only  one 
cartridge  left  and  found,  that  he  had  scarce  strength 
to  answer  a  "halloo,"  should  he  hear  one.  But  soldiers 
never  like  to  talk  much  about  such  things. 

(87) 


CHAPTER   XI 

CAMP  APACHK 

By  Th^  fourth  of  October  we  had  crossed  the 
range,  and  began  to  see  something  which  looked  hke 
roads.  Our  animals  were  fagged  to  a  state  of  exhaus- 
tion, but  the  travelling  was  now  much  easier  and 
there  was  good  grazing,  and  after  three  more  long 
day's  marches,  we  arrived  at  Camp  Apache.  We 
were  now  at  our  journey's  end,  after  two  months' 
continuous  travelling,  and  I  felt  reasonably  sure  of 
shelter  and  a  fireside  for  the  winter  at  least.  I  knew 
that  my  husband's  promotion  was  expected,  but  the 
immediate  present  was  filled  with  an  interest  so 
absorbing,  that  a  consideration  of  the  future  was  out 
of  the  question. 

At  that  time  (it  was  the  year  of  1874)  the  officers' 
quarters  at  Camp  Apache  were  log  cabins,  built  near 
the  edge  of  the  deep  canon  through  which  the  White 
Mountain  River  flows,  before  its  junction  with  Black 
River. 

We  were  welcomed  by  the  officers  of  the  Fifth 
Cavalry,  who  were  stationed  there.  It  was  altogether 
picturesque  and  attractive.  In  addition  to  the  row 
of  log  cabins,  there  were  enormous  stables  and 
Government  buildings,  and  a  sutler's  store.  We  were 
entertained  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  quarters  were 

88 


CAMP  APACHE 

assigned  to  us.  The  second  lieutenants  had  rather  a 
poor  choice,  as  the  quarters  were  scarce.  We  were 
assigned  a  half  of  a  log  cabin,  which  gave  us  one 
room,  a  small  square  hall,  and  a  bare  shed,  the 
latter  detached  from  the  house,  to  be  used  for  a 
kitchen.  The  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  was 
occupied  by  the  Post  Surgeon,  who  was  temporarily 
absent. 

Our  things  were  unloaded  and  brought  to  this 
cabin.  I  missed  the  barrel  of  china,  and  learned  that 
it  had  been  on  the  unfortunate  wagon  which  rolled 
down  the  mountain-side.  I  had  not  attained  that  state 
of  mind  which  came  to  me  later  in  my  army  life.  I 
cared  then  a  good  deal  about  my  belongings,  and  the 
annoyance  caused  by  the  loss  of  our  china  was  quite 
considerable.  I  knew  there  was  none  to  be  obtained 
at  Camp  Apache,  as  most  of  the  merchandise  came 
in  by  pack-train  to  that  isolated  place. 

Mrs.  Dodge,  of  the  Twenty-third  Infantry,  who 
was  about  to  leave  the  post,  heard  of  my  predicament, 
and  offered  me  some  china  plates  and  cups,  which 
she  thought  not  worth  the  trouble  of  packing  (so  she 
said),  and  I  was  glad  to  accept  them,  and  thanked 
her,  almost  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 

Bowen  nailed  down  our  one  carpet  over  the  poor 
board  floor  (after  having  first  sprinkled  down  a  thick 
layer  of  clean  straw,  which  he  brought  from  the 
quartermaster  stables).  Two  iron  cots  from  the  hos- 
pital wen  brought  over,  and  two  bed-sacks  filled  with 

89 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

fresh,  sweet  straw,  were  laid  upon  them;  over  these 
were  laid  our  mattresses.  Woven-wire  springs  were 
then  unheard  of  in  that  country. 

We  untied  our  folding  chairs,  built  a  fire  on  the 
hearth,  captured  an  old  broken-legged  wash-stand  and 
a  round  table  from  somewhere,  and  that  was  our 
living-room.  A  pine  table  was  found  for  the  small 
hall,  which  was  to  be  our  dinning-room,  and  some 
chairs  with  raw-hide  seats  were  brought  from  the 
barracks,  some  shelves  knocked^  up  against  one  wall, 
to  serve  as  sideboard.     Now  for  the  kitchen ! 

A  cooking-stove  and  various  things  were  sent  over 
from  the  Q.  M.  store-house,  and  Bowen  (the  wonder 
•of  it!)  drove  in  nails,  and  hung  up  my  Fort  Russell 
tin-ware,  and  put  up  shelves  and  stood  my  pans  in 
rows,  and  polished  the  stove,  and  went  out  and  stole  a 
table  somewhere  (Bowen  was  invaluable  in  that  way), 
polished  the  zinc  under  the  stove,  and  lo !  and  behold, 
my  army  kitchen !  Bowen  was  indeed  a  treasure ;  he 
said  he  would  like  to  cook  for  us,  for  ten  dollars  a 
month.  We  readily  accepted  this  offer.  There  were 
no  persons  to  be  obtained,  in  these  distant  places,  who 
could  do  the  cooking  in  the  families  of  officers,  so  it 
was  customary  to  employ  a  soldier;  and  the  soldier 
often  displayed  remarkable  ability  in  the  way  of 
cooking,  in  some  cases,  in  fact,  more  than  in  the  way 
of  soldiering.  They  liked  the  little  addition  to  their 
pay,  if  they  were  of  frugal  mind;  they  had  also  their 
own  quiet  room  to  sleep  in,  and  I  often  thought  the 

90 


CAMP  APACHE 

family  life,  offering  as  it  did  a  contrast  to  the  bare- 
ness and  desolation  of  the  noisy  barracks,  appealed  to 
the  domestic  instinct,  so  strong  in  some  men's  natures. 
At  all  events,  it  was  always  easy  in  those  days  to  get 
a  man  from  the  company,  and  they  sometimes  re- 
mained for  years  with  an  officer's  family;  in  some 
cases  attending  drills  and  roll-calls  besides. 

Now  came  the  unpacking  of  the  chests  and  trunks. 
In  our  one  diminutive  room,  and  small  hall,  was  no 
closet,  there  were  no  hooks  on  the  bare  walls,  no 
place  to  hang  things  or  lay  things,  and  what  to  do  I 
did  not  know.  I  was  in  despair;  Jack  came  in,  to 
find  me  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  chest,  which  was 
half  unpacked,  the  contents  on  the  floor.  I  was  very 
mournful,  and  he  did  not  see  why. 

^'Oh !  Jack !  Tve  nowhere  to  put  things !" 

''What  things?"  said  this  impossible  man. 

''Why,  all  our  things,"  said  I,  losing  my  temper; 
"can't  you  see  them?" 

"Put  them  back  in  the  chests, — and  get  them  out  as 
you  need  them,"  said  this  son  of  Mars,  and  buckled 
on  his  sword.  "Do  the  best  you  can,  Martha,  I  have 
to  go  to  the  barracks ;  be  back  again  soon."  I  looked 
around  me,  and  tried  to  solve  the  problem.  There 
was  no  bureau,  nothing;  not  a  nook  or  corner  where 
a  thing  might  be  stowed.  I  gazed  at  the  motley 
collection  of  bed-linen,  dust-pans,  silver  bottles,  boot 
jacks,  saddles,  old  uniforms,  full  dress  military  hats, 
sword-belts,    riding-boots,   cut   glass,   window-shades, 

91 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

lamps,  work-baskets,  and  books,  and  I  gave  it  up  in 
despair.  You  see,  I  was  not  an  army  girl,  and  I 
did  not  know  how  to  manage. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  however,  but  to 
follow  Jack's  advice,  so  I  threw  the  boots,  saddles 
and  equipments  under  the  bed,  and  laid  the  other 
things  back  in  the  chests,  closed  the  lids  and  went 
out  to  take  a  look  at  the  post.  Towards  evening,  a 
soldier  came  for  orders  for  beef,  and  I  learned  how 
to  manage  that.  I  was  told  that  we  bought  our  meats 
direct  from  the  contractor;  I  had  to  state  how  much 
and  what  cuts  I  wished.  Another  soldier  came  to 
bring  us  milk,  and  I  asked  Jack  who  was  the  milkman, 
and  he  said,  blessed  if  he  knew;  I  learned,  after- 
wards, that  the  soldiers  roped  some  of  the  wild  Texas 
cows  that  were  kept  in  one  of  the  Government  corrals, 
and  tied  them  securely  to  keep  them  from  kicking; 
then  milked  them,  and  the  milk  was  divided  up  among 
the  officers'  families,  according  to  rank.  We  re- 
ceived about  a  pint  every  night.  I  declared  it  was 
not  enough ;  but  I  soon  discovered  that  however  much 
education,  position  and  money  might  count  in  civil 
life,  rank  seemed  to  be  the  one  and  only  thing  in  the 
army,  and  Jack  had  not  much  of  that  just  then. 

The  question  of  getting  settled  comfortably  still 
worried  me,  and  after  a  day  of  two,  I  went  over 
to  see  what  Mrs.  Bailey  had  done.  To  my  surprise, 
I  found  her  out  playing  tennis,  her  little  boy  asleep 
in  the  baby-carriage,  which  they  had  brought  all  the 

92 


CAMP  APACHE 

way  from  San  Francisco,  near  the  court.  I  joined 
the  group,  and  afterwards  asked  her  advice  about 
the  matter.  She  laughed  kindly,  and  said:  "Oh! 
you'll  get  used  to  it,  and  things  will  settle  them- 
selves. Of  course  it  is  troublesome,  but  you  can 
have  shelves  and  such  things — you'll  soon  learn,"  and 
still  smiling,  she  gave  her  ball  a  neat  left-hander. 

I  concluded  that  my  New  England  bringing  up 
had  been  too  serious,  and  wondered  if  I  had  made  a 
dreadful  mistake  in  marrying  into  the  army,  or  at 
least  in  following  my  husband  to  Arizona.  I  debated 
the  question  with  myself  from  all  sides,  and  decided 
then  and  there  that  young  army  wives  should  stay 
at  home  with  their  mothers  and  fathers,  and  not  go 
into  such  wild  and  uncouth  places.  I  thought  my 
decision  irrevocable. 

Before  the  two  small  deep  windows  in  our  room  we^ 
hung  some  Turkey  red  cotton.  Jack  built  in  his  spare 
moments  a  couch  for  me,  and  gradually  our  small 
quarters  assumed  an  appearance  of  comfort.  I  turned 
my  attention  a  little  to  social  matters.  We  dined  at 
Captain  Montgomery's  (the  commanding  officer's) 
house;  his  wife  was  a  famous  Washington  beauty. 
He  had  more  rank,  consequently  more  rooms,  than  we 
had,  and  their  quarters  were  very  comfortable  and  at- 
tractive. 

There  was  much  that  was  new  and  interesting  at 
the  post.  The  Indians  who  lived  on  this  reservation 
were  the  White  Mountain  Apaches,  a  fierce  and  cruel 

93 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

tribe,  whose  depredations  and  atrocities  had  been 
carried  on  for  years,  in  and  around,  and,  indeed,  far 
away  from  their  mountain  homes.  But  this  tribe 
was  now  under  surveillance  of  the  Government,  and 
guarded  by  a  strong  garrison  of  cavalry  and  infantry 
at  Camp  Apache.  They  were  divided  into  bands, 
under  Chiefs  Pedro,  Diablo,  Patone  and  Cibiano; 
they  came  into  the  post  twice  a  week  to  be  counted, 
and  to  receive  their  rations  of  beef,  sugar,  beans,  and 
other  staples,  which  Uncle  Sam's  commissary  officer 
issued  to  them. 

In  the  absence  of  other  amusement,  the  officers' 
wives  walked  over  to  witness  this  rather  solemn  cere- 
mony. At  least,  the  serious  expression  on  the  faces 
of  the  Indians,  as  they  received  their  rations,  gave 
an  air  of  solemnity  to  the  proceeding. 

Large  stakes  were  driven  into  the  ground;  at  each 
stake,  sat  or  stood  the  leader  of  a  band ;  a  sort  of 
father  to  his  people;  then  the  rest  of  them  stretched 
out  in  several  long  lines,  young  bucks  and  old  ones, 
squaws  and  pappooses,  the  families  together,  about 
seventeen  hundred  souls  in  all.  I  used  to  walk  up 
and  down  between  the  lines,  with  the  other  women, 
and  the  squaws  looked  at  our  clothes  and  chuckled, 
and  made  some  of  their  inarticulate  remarks  to  each 
other.  The  bucks  looked  admiringly  at  the  white 
women,  especially  at  the  cavalry  beauty,  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery, although  I  thought  that  Chief  Diablo  cast 
a  special  eye  at  our  young  Mrs.  Bailey,  of  the  infantry. 

94 


CAMP  APACHE 

Diablo  was  a  handsome  fellow.  I  was  especially 
impressed  by  his  extraordinary  good  looks. 

This  tribe  was  quiet  at  that  time,  only  a  few 
renegades  escaping  into  the  hills  on  their  wild  adven- 
tures: but  I  never  felt  any  confidence  in  them  and 
was,  on  the  whole,  rather  afraid  of  them.  The  squaws 
were  shy,  and  seldom  came  near  the  officers'  quarters. 
Some  of  the  younger  girls  were  extremely  pretty ;  they 
had  delicate  hands,  and  small  feet  encased  in  well- 
shaped  moccasins.  They  wore  short  skirts  made  of 
stripped  bark,  which  hung  gracefully  about  their  bare 
knees  and  supple  limbs,  and  usually  a  sort  of  low- 
necked  camisa,  made  neatly  of  coarse,  unbleached 
muslin,  with  a  band  around  the  neck  and  arms,  and, 
in  cold  weather  a  pretty  blanket  was  wrapped  around 
their  shoulders  and  fastened  at  the  breast  in  front.  In 
summer  the  blanket  was  replaced  by  a  square  of 
bright  calico.  Their  coarse,  black  hair  hung  in  long 
braids  in  front  over  each  shoulder,  and  nearly  all  of 
them  wore  an  even  bang  or  fringe  over  the  forehead. 
Of  course  hats  were  unheard  of.  The  Apaches,  both 
men  and  women,  had  not  then  departed  from  the  cus- 
toms of  their  ancestors,  and  still  retained  the  extra- 
ordinary beauty  and  picturesqueness  of  their  aborigi- 
nal dress.  They  wore  sometimes  a  line  buckskin  upper 
garment,  and  if  of  high  standing  in  the  tribe,  neck- 
laces of  elks  teeth. 

The  young  lieutenants  sometimes  tried  to  make  up 
to   the    prettiest   ones,    and    offered    them    trinkets, 

95 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

pretty  boxes  of  soap,  beads,  and  small  mirrors  (so 
dear  to  the  heart  of  the  Indian  girl),  but  the  young 
maids  were  coy  enough;  it  seemed  to  me  they  cared 
more  for  men  of  their  own  race. 

Once  or  twice,  I  saw  older  squaws  with  horribly 
disfigured  faces.  I  supposed  it  was  the  result  of 
some  ravaging  disease,  but  I  learned  that  it  was  the 
custom  of  this  tribe,  to  cut  off  the  noses  of  those 
women  who  were  unfaithful  to  their  lords.  Poor 
creatures,  they  had  my  pity,  for  they  were  only  chil- 
dren of  Nature,  after  all,  living  close  to  the  earth, 
close  to  the  pulse  of  their  mother.  But  this  sort  of 
punishment  seemed  to  be  the  expression  of  the  cruel 
and  revengeful  nature  of  the  Apache. 

(96) 


CHAPTER  XII 

1,1^1:  AMONGST  the:  APACHES 

BowEN  PROVED  to  be  a  fairly  good  cook,  and  I 
ventured  to  ask  people  to  dinner  in  our  little  hall 
dining-room,  a  veritable  box  of  a  place.  One  day, 
feeling  particularly  ambitious  to  have  my  dinner  a 
success,  I  made  a  bold  attempt  at  oyster  patties.  With 
the  confidence  of  youth  and  inexperience,  I  made  the 
pastry,  and  it  was  a  success ;  I  took  a  can  of  Baltimore 
oysters,  and  did  them  up  in  a  fashion  that  astonished 
myself,  and  when,  after  the  soup,  each  guest  was 
served  with  a  hot  oyster  patty,  one  of  the  cavalry 
officers  fairly  gasped.  "Oyster  patty,  if  I'm  alive! 
Where  on  earth — Bless  my  stars !  And  this  at  Camp 
Apache !" 

"And  by  Holy  Jerusalem !  they  are  good,  too,"  ex- 
claimed Captain  Reilly,  and  turning  to  Bowen,  he 
said:  "Bowen,  did  you  make  these?" 

Bowen  straightened  himself  up  to  his  six  foot  two, 
clapped  his  heels  together,  and  came  to  "attention,'' 
looked  straight  to  the  front,  and  replied:  "Yes,  sir." 

I  thought  I  heard  Captain  Reilly  say  in  an  under- 
tone to  his  neighbor,  "The  hell  he  did,"  but  I  was 
not  sure. 

At  that  season,  we  got  excellent  wild  turkeys  there, 
and  good  Southdown  mutton,  and  one  could  not  com- 
plain of  such  living. 

97 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

But  I  could  never  get  accustomed  to  the  wretched 
small  space  of  one  room  and  a  hall;  for  the  kilchen, 
being  detached,  could  scarcely  be  counted  in.  I  had 
been  born  and  brought  up  in  a  spacious  house,  with 
plenty  of  bedrooms,  closets,  and  an  immense  old-time 
garret.  The  forlorn  makeshifts  for  closets,  and  the 
absence  of  all  conveniences,  annoyed  me  and  added 
much  to  the  difficulties  of  my  situation.  Added  to 
this,  I  soon  discovered  that  my  husband  had  a  pen- 
chant for  buying  and  collecting  things  which  seemed 
utterly  worthless  to  me,  and  only  added  to  the  num- 
ber of  articles  to  be  handled  and  packed  away.  I 
begged  him  to  refrain,  and  to  remember  that  he  was 
married,  and  that  we  had  not  the  money  to  spend 
in  such  ways.  He  really  did  try  to  improve,  and 
denied  himself  the  taking  of  many  an  alluring  share 
in  raffles  for  old  saddles,  pistols,  guns,  and  cow-boy's 
stuff,  which  were  always  being  held  at  the  sutler's 
store. 

But  an  auction  of  condemned  hospital  stores  was 
too  much  for  him,  and  he  came  in  triumphantly  one 
day,  bringing  a  box  of  antiquated  dentist's  instru- 
ments in  his  hand. 

*'Good  gracious !"  I  cried,  ' Vhat  can  you  ever  do 
with  those  forceps?" 

"Oh!  they  are  splendid,"  he  said,  "and  they  will 
come  in  mighty  handy  some  time." 

I  saw  that  he  loved  tools  and  instruments,  and  I 
reflected,  why  not?    There  are  lots  of  things  I  have 

98 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE  APACHES 

a  passion  for,  and  love,  just  as  he  loves  those  things, 
and  I  shall  never  say  any  more  about  it.  ''Only,"  I 
added,  aloud,  "do  not  expect  me  to  pack  up  such 
trash  when  we  come  to  move;  you  will  have  to  look 
out  for  it  yourself." 

So  with  that  spiteful  remark  from  me,  the  episode 
of  the  forceps  was  ended,  for  the  time  at  least. 

As  the  winter  came  on,  the  isolation  of  the  place 
had  a  rather  depressing  effect  upon  us  all.  The 
officers  were  engaged  in  their  various  duties:  drill, 
courts-martial,  instruction,  and  other  military  occupa- 
tions. They  found  some  diversion  at  "the  store," 
where  the  ranchmen  assembled  and  told  frontier  sto- 
ries and  played  exciting  games  of  poker.  Jack's  duties 
as  commissary  officer  kept  him  much  away  from  me, 
and  I  was  very  lonely. 

The  mail  was  brought  in  twice  a  week  by  a  soldier 
on  horseback.  When  he  failed  to  come  in  at  the  usual 
time,  much  anxiety  was  manifested,  and  I  learned 
that  only  a  short  time  before,  one  of  the  mail-carriers 
had  been  killed  by  Indians  and  the  mail  destroyed. 
I  did  not  wonder  that  on  mail-day  everybody  came  out 
in  front  of  the  quarters  and  asked:  "Is  the  mail- 
carrier  in  ?"  And  nothing  much  was  done  or  thought 
of  on  that  day,  until  we  saw  him  come  jogging  in, 
the  mail-bag  tied  behind  his  saddle.  Our  letters  were 
from  two  to  three  weeks  old.  The  eastern  mail  came 
via  Santa  Fe  to  the  terminus  of  the  railroad,  and 
then   by    stage;    for    in    1874,    the    railroads    did  not 

99 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

extend  very  far  into  the  Soutliwest.  At  a  certain 
point  on  tlie  old  New  Mexicx)  road,  our  man  met  the 
San  Carlos  carrier,  and  received  the  mail  for  Apache. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  I  said,  *iiow  any  soldier 
can  be  found  to  take  such  a  dangerous  detail," 

"Why  so?"  said  Jack.    "They  like  it." 

"I  should  think  that  when  they  got  into  those 
canons  and  narrow  defiles,  they  would  think  of  the 
horrible  fate  of  their  predecessor,"  said    I. 

"Perhaps  they  do,"  he  answered;  **but  a  soldier  is 
always  glad  to  get  a  detail  that  gives  him  a  cliange 
from  the  routine  of  post  life," 

I  was  getting  to  learn  about  the  indomitable  pluck 
of  our  soldiers.  They  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of 
anything.  At  Camp  Apache  my  opinion  of  the  Amer- 
ican soldier  was  formed,  and  it  has  never  changed. 
In  the  long  march  across  the  Territory,  they  had 
cared  for  my  wants  and  perfonned  uncomplainingly 
for  me  ser\nce^  usually  rendered  by  women.  Those 
were  before  the  days  of  lineal  promotion.  Officers 
remained  with  their  regiments  for  many  years,  A 
feeling  of  regimental  prestige  held  officers  and  men 
together,  I  began  to  share  that  feeling,  I  knew  the 
names  of  the  men  in  the  company,  and  not  one  but 
was  ready  to  do  a  service  for  the  "Lieutenant's  wife,'* 
"K"  had  long  been  a  bachelor  company;  and  now  a 
young  wc»fnan  had  joined  it,  I  was  a  person  to  be 
pampered  and  cared  for,  and  they  knew*  besides  that 
I  was  not  long  in  the  army, 

lOO 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE  APACHES 

•  During  that  winter  I  received  many  a  wild  turkey 
and  other  nice  things  for  the  table,  from  the  men 
of  the  company.  I  learned  to  know  and  to  thoroughly 
respect  the  enlisted  man  of  the  American  army. 

And  now  into  the  varied  kaleidoscope  of  my  army 
life  stepped  the  Indian  Agent.  And  of  all  unkempt, 
unshorn,  disagreeable-looking  personages  who  had 
ever  stepped  foot  into  our  quarters,  this  was  the 
worst. 

"Heaven  save  us  from  a  Government  which  ap- 
points such  men  as  that  to  watch  over  and  deal  with 
Indians,'*  cried  I,  as  he  left  the  house.  "Is  it  pos- 
sible that  his  position  here  demands  social  recogni- 
tion ?*'  I  added. 

"Hush!"  said  the  second  lieutenant  of  K  company. 
"It's  the  Interior  Department  that  appoints  the 
Indian  Agents,  and  besides,"  he  added,  "it's  not  good 
taste  on  your  part,  Martha,  to  abuse  the  Government 
which  gives  us  our  bread  and  butter." 

"Well,  you  can  say  what  you  like,  and  preach  policy 
all  you  wish,  no  Government  on  earth  can  compel  me 
to  associate  with  such  men  as  those!"  With  that  as- 
sertion, I  left  the  room,  to  prevent  farther  argument. 

And  I  will  here  add  that  in  my  experience  on  the 
frontier,  which  extended  over  a  long  period,  it  was 
never  my  good  fortune  to  meet  with  an  Indian  Agent 
who  impressed  me  as  being  the  right  sort  of  a  man 
to  deal  with  those  children  of  nature,  for  Indians  are 
like  children,   and  their  intuitions   are  keen.     They 

lOI 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

know  and  appreciate  honesty  and  fair  dealing,  and 
they  know  a  gentleman  when  they  meet  one. 

The  winter  came  on  apace,  but  the  weather  was 
mild  and  pleasant.  One  day  some  officers  came  in 
and  said  we  must  go  over  to  the  '^Ravine''  that 
evening,  where  the  Indians  were  going  to  have  a 
rare  sort  of  a  dance. 

There  was  no  one  to  say  to  me :  *'Do  not  go,"  and, 
as  we  welcomed  any  little  excitement  which  would 
relieve  the  monotony  of  our  lives,  we  cast  aside  all 
doubts  of  the  advisability  of  my  going.  So,  after 
dinner,  we  joined  the  others,  and  sallied  forth  into 
the  darkness  of  an  Arizona  night.  We  crossed  the 
large  parade-ground,  and  picked  our  way  over  a  rough 
and  pathless  country,  lighted  only  by  the  stars  above. 

Arriving  at  the  edge  of  the  ravine,  what  a  scene 
was  before  us !  We  looked  down  into  a  natural  amphi- 
theatre, in  which  blazed  great  fires;  hordes  of  wild 
Apaches  darted  about,  while  others  sat  on  logs  beat- 
ing their  tomtoms. 

I  was  afraid,  and  held  back,  but  the  rest  of  the 
party  descended  into  the  ravine,  and,  leaning  on  a 
good  strong  arm,  I  followed.  We  all  sat  down  on  the 
great  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  and  soon  the  dancers 
came  into  the  arena. 

They  were  entirely  naked,  except  for  the  loin-cloth ; 
their  bodies  were  painted,  and  from  their  elbows  and 
knees  stood  out  bunches  of  feathers,  giving  them  the 
appearance  of  huge  flying  creatures;    jingling  things 

1 02 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE  APACHES 

were  attached  to  their  necks  and  arms.  Upon  their 
heads  were  large  frames,  made  to  resemble  the  branch- 
ing horns  of  an  elk,  and  as  they  danced,  and  bowed 
their  heads,  the  horns  lent  them  the  appearance  of 
some  unknown  animal,  and  added  greatly  to  their 
height.  Their  feathers  waved,  their  jingles  shook, 
and  their  painted  bodies  twisted  and  turned  in  the 
light  of  the  great  fire,  which  roared  and  leaped  on 
high.  At  one  moment  they  were  birds,  at  another 
animals,  at  the  next  they  were  demons. 

The  noise  of  the  tomtoms  and  the  harsh  shouts  of 
the  Indians  grew  wilder  and  wilder.  It  was  weird 
and  terrifying.  Then  came  a  pause;  the  arena  was 
cleared,  and  with  much  solemnity  two  wicked-looking 
creatures  came  out  and  performed  a  sort  of  shadow 
dance,  brandishing  knives  as  they  glided  through  the 
intricate  figures. 

It  was  a  fascinating  but  unearthly  scene,  and  the 
setting  completed  the  illusion.  Fright  deprived  me 
of  the  power  of  thought,  but  in  a  sort  of  subconscious 
way  I  felt  that  Orpheus  must  have  witnessed  just 
such  mad  revels  when  he  went  down  into  Pluto's  re- 
gions. Suddenly  the  shouts  became  warwhoops,  the 
demons  brandished  their  knives  madly,  and  nodded 
their  branching  horns ;  the  tomtoms  were  beaten  with 
a  dreadful  din,  and  terror  seized  my  heart.  What  if 
they  be  treacherous,  and  had  lured  our  small  party 
down  into  this  ravine  for  an  ambush!  The  thing 
could  well  be,  I  thought.     I  saw  uneasiness  in  the 

103 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

faces  of  the  other  women,  and  by  mutual  consent  we 
got  up  and  slowly  took  our  departure.  I  barely 
had  strength  to  climb  up  the  steep  side  of  the  hollow. 
I  was  thankful  to  escape  from  its  horrors. 

Scarce  three  months  after  that  some  of  the  same 
band  of  Indians  fired  into  the  garrison  and  fled  to  the 
mountains.  I  remarked  to  Jack,  that  I  thought  we 
were  very  imprudent  to  go  to  see  that  dance,  and  he 
said  he  supposed  we  were.  But  I  had  never  regarded 
life  in  such  a  light  way  as  he  seemed  to. 

Women  usually  like  to  talk  over  their  trials  and 
their  wonderful  adventures,  and  that  is  why  I  am 
writing  this,  I  suppose.  Men  simply  will  not  talk 
about  such  things. 

The  cavalry  beauty  seemed  to  look  at  this  frontier 
life  philosophically — what  she  really  thought  about  it, 
I  never  knew.  Mrs.  Bailey  was  so  much  occupied  by 
the  care  of  her  young  child  and  various  out-door 
amusements,  that  she  did  not,  apparently,  think  much 
about  things  that  happened  around  us.  At  all  events, 
she  never  seemed  inclined  to  talk  about  them.  There 
was  no  one  else  to  talk  to;  the  soil  was  strange,  and 
the  atmosphere  a  foreign  one  to  me ;  life  did  not  seem 
to  be  taken  seriously  out  there,  as  it  was  back  in  New 
England,  where  they  always  loved  to  sit  down  and 
talk  things  over.  I  was  downright  lonesome  for  my 
mother  and  sisters. 

I  could  not  go  out  very  much  at  that  time,  so  I 
occupied  myself  a  good  deal  with  needle-work. 

104 


LIFE  AMONGST  TH^  APACHES 

One  evening  we  heard  firing  across  the  canon.  Jack 
caught  up  his  sword,  buckhng  on  his  belt  as  he  went 
out.  "Injuns  fighting  on  the  other  side  of  the  river," 
some  soldier  reported.  Finding  that  it  did  not  con- 
cern us,  Jack  said,  "Come  out  into  the  back  yard, 
Martha,  and  look  over  the  stockade,  and  I  think  you 
can  see  across  the  river.''  So  I  hurried  out  to  the 
stockade,  but  Jack,  seeing  that  I  was  not  tall  enough, 
picked  up  an  empty  box  that  stood  under  the  window 
of  the  room  belonging  to  the  Doctor,  when,  thud! 
fell  something  out  onto  the  ground,  and  rolled  away. 
I  started  involuntarily.  It  was  dark  in  the  yard.  I 
stood  stock  still.     "What  was  that?"  I  whispered. 

"Nothing  but  an  old  Edam  cheese,"  said  this  true- 
hearted  soldier  of  mine.  I  knew  it  was  not  a  cheese, 
but  said  no  more.  I  stood  up  on  the  box,  watched  the 
firing  like  a  man,  and  went  quietly  back  into  the 
quarters.  After  retiring,  I  said,  "You  might  just  as 
well  tell  me  now,  you  will  have  to  sooner  or  later, 
what  was  in  the  box — it  had  a  dreadful  sound,  as  it 
rolled  away  on  the  ground." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "if  you  must  know,  it  was  an 
Injun's  head  that  the  Doctor  had  saved,  to  take  to 
Washington  with  him.  It  had  a  sort  of  a  malformed 
skull  or  jaw-bone  or  something.  But  he  left  it  behind 
— I  guess  it  got  a  leetle  to  old  for  him  to  carry,"  he 
laughed.  "Somebody  told  me  there  was  a  head  in 
the  yard,  but  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Lucky  thing  you 
didn't  see  it,  wasn't  it?     I  suppose  you'd  been  scared 

105 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

— well,  I  must  tell  the  fatigue  party  to-morrow  to 
take  it  away.  Now  don't  let  me  forget  it,"  and  this 
soldier  of  many  battles  fell  into  the  peaceful  slumber 
which  comes  to  those  who  know  not  fear. 

The  next  day  I  overheard  him  telling  Major  Worth 
what  had  happened,  and  adding  that  he  would  roast 
that  Doctor  if  he  ever  came  back.  I  was  seeing  the 
rugged  side  of  life,  indeed,  and  getting  accustomed 
to  shocks. 

Now  the  cavalry  beauty  gave  a  dinner.  It  was 
lovely;  but  in  the  midst  of  it,  we  perceived  a  sort  of 
confusion  of  moccasined  footsteps  outside  the  dining- 
room.  My  nerves  were,  by  this  time,  always  on  the 
alert.  I  glanced  through  the  large  door  opening  out 
into  the  hall,  and  saw  a  group  of  Indian  scouts ;  they 
laid  a  coffee-sack  down  by  the  corner  fire-place,  near 
the  front  door.  The  commanding  officer  left  the  table 
hastily;   the  portiere  was  drawn. 

I  had  heard  tales  of  atrocious  cruelties  committed 
by  a  band  of  Indians  who  had  escaped  from  the 
reservation  and  were  ravaging  the  country  around. 
I  had  heard  how  they  maimed  poor  sheep  and  cut  off 
the  legs  of  cattle  at  the  first  joint,  leaving  them  to  die; 
how  they  tortured  women,  and  burned  their  husbands 
and  children  before  their  eyes ;  I  had  heard  also  that 
the  Indian  scouts  were  out  after  them,  with  orders  to 
bring  them  in,  dead  or  alive. 

The  next  day  I  learned  that  the  ringleader's  head 
was  in  the  bag  that  I  had  seen,  and  that  the  others 

1 06 


o 


S  S. 

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Captain  William  T.  Worth,  Brevet-Major,  U.  S.  A. 
Afterwards  Brigadier-General. 


LIFE  AMONGST  THE  APACHES 

had  surrendered  and  returned.  The  scouts  were 
Apaches  in  the  pay  of  the  Government,  and  I  always 
heard  that,  as  long  as  they  were  serving  as  scouts, 
they  showed  themselves  loyal  and  would  hunt  down 
their  nearest  relative. 

Major  Worth  got  tired  of  the  monotony  of  a 
bachelor's  life  at  Camp  Apache  and  decided  to  give 
a  dance  in  his  quarters,  and  invite  the  chiefs.  I  think 
the  other  officers  did  not  wholly  approve  of  it,  al- 
though they  felt  friendly  enough  towards  them,  as 
long  as  they  were  not  causing  disturbances.  But  tc 
meet  the  savage  Apache  on  a  basis  of  social  equality, 
in  an  officer's  quarters,  and  to  dance  in  a  quadrille 
with  him!  Well,  the  limit  of  all  things  had  been 
reached ! 

However,  Major  Worth,  who  was  actually  suffering 
from  the  ennui  of  frontier  life  in  winter,  and  in  time 
of  peace,  determined  to  carry  out  his  project,  so  he 
had  his  quarters,  which  were  quite  spacious,  cleared 
and  decorated  with  evergreen  boughs.  From  his  com- 
pany, he  secured  some  men  who  could  play  the  banjo 
and  guitar,  and  all  the  officers  and  their  wives,  and 
the  chiefs  with  their  harems,  came  to  this  novel  fete. 
A  quadrille  was  formed,  in  which  the  chiefs  danced 
opposite  the  officers.  The  squaws  sat  around,  as  they 
were  too  shy  to  dance.  These  chiefs  were  painted, 
and  wore  only  their  necklaces  and  the  customary  loin- 
cloth, throwing  their  blankets  about  their  shoulders 

107 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

when  they  had  finished  dancing.  I  noticed  again 
Chief  Diablo's  great  good  looks. 

Conversation  was  carried  on  principally  by  signs 
and  nods,  and  through  the  interpreter  (a  white  man 
named  Cooley).  Besides,  the  officers  had  picked  up 
many  short  phrases  of  the  harsh  and  gutteral  Apache 
tongue. 

Diablo  was  charmed  with  the  young,  handsome  wife 
of  one  of  the  officers,  and  asked  her  husband  how 
many  ponies  he  would  take  for  her,  and  Pedro  asked 
Major  Worth,  if  all  those  white  squaws  belonged  to 
him. 

The  party  passed  off  pleasantly  enough,  and  was 
not  especially  subversive  to  discipline,  although  I 
believe  it  was  not  repeated. 

Afterwards,  long  afterwards,  when  we  were  sta- 
tioned at  David's  Island,  New  York  Harbor,  and 
Major  Worth  was  no  longer  a  bachelor,  but  a  dignified 
married  man  and  had  gained  his  star  in  the  Spanish 
War,  we  used  to  meet  occasionally  down  by  the  barge 
office  or  taking  a  Penster-promenade  on  Broadway, 
and  we  would  always  stand  awhile  and  chat  over  the 
old  days  at  Camp  Apache  in  '74.  Never  mind  how 
pressing  our  mutual  engagements  were,  we  could 
never  forego  the  pleasure  of  talking  over  those  wild 
days  and  contrasting  them  with  our  then  present  sur- 
roundings. ''Shall  you  ever  forget  my  party?''  he 
said,  the  last  time  we  met. 

(108) 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   NE:w   recruit 

In  January  our  little  boy  arrived,  to  share  our 
fate  and  to  gladden  our  hearts.  As  he  was  the  first 
child  born  to  an  officer's  family  in  Camp  Apache, 
there  was  the  greatest  excitement.  All  the  sheep- 
ranchers  and  cattlemen  for  miles  around  came  into 
the  post.  The  beneficent  canteen,  with  its  soldiers' 
and  officers'  club-rooms  did  not  exist  then.  So  they 
all  gathered  at  the  sutler's  store,  to  celebrate  events 
with  a  round  of  drinks.  They  wanted  to  shake  hands 
with  and  congratulate  the  new  father,  after  their 
fashion,  upon  the  advent  of  the  blond-haired  baby. 
Their  great  hearts  went  out  to  him,  and  they  vied  with 
each  other  in  doing  the  handsome  thing  by  him,  in  a 
manner  according  to  their  lights,  and  their  ideas  of 
wishing  well  to  a  man ;  a  manner,  sometimes,  alas ! 
disastrous  in  its  results  to  the  man !  However,  by  this 
time,  I  was  getting  used  to  all  sides  of  frontier  life. 

I  had  no  time  to  be  lonely  now,  for  I  had  no  nurse, 
and  the  only  person  who  was  able  to  render  me  service 
was  a  laundress  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  who  came  for 
about  two  hours  each  day,  to  give  the  baby  his  bath 
and  to  arrange  things  about  the  bed.  I  begged  her  to 
stay  with  me,  but,  of  course,  I  knew  it  was  impossible, 
i     So  here  I  was,  inexperienced  and  helpless,  alone  in 

109 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

bed,  with  an  infant  a  few  days  old.  Dr.  Loring,  our 
excellent  Post  Surgeon,  was  both  kind  and  skillful, 
but  he  was  in  poor  health  and  expecting  each  day  to 
be  ordered  to  another  station.  My  husband  was 
obliged  to  be  at  the  Commissary  Office  all  day,  issuing 
rations  to  troops  and  scouts,  and  attending  to  the  duties 
of  his  position. 

But,  realizing  in  a  measure  the  utter  helplessness  of 
my  situation,  he  sent  a  soldier  up  to  lead  a  wire  cord 
through  the  thick  wall  at  the  head  of  my  bed  and 
out  through  the  small  yard  into  the  kitchen.  To  this 
they  attached  a  big  cow-bell,  so,  by  making  some  con- 
siderable effort  to  reach  up  and  pull  this  wire,  I  could 
summon  Bowen,  that  is,  if  Bowen  happened  to  be 
there.  But  Bowen  seemed  always  to  be  out  at  drill  or 
over  at  the  company  quarters,  and  frequently  my 
bell  brought  no  reponse.  When  he  did  come,  however, 
he  was  just  as  kind  and  just  as  awkward  as  it  was 
possible  for  a  great  big  six-foot  farmer-soldier  to  be. 

But  I  grew  weaker  and  weaker  with  trying  to  be 
strong,  and  one  day  when  Jack  came  in  and  found 
both  the  baby  and  myself  crying,  he  said,  man-like, 
''What's  the  matter?"  I  said,  ''I  must  have  some  one 
to  take  care  of  me,  or  we  shall  both  die." 

He  seemed  to  realize  that  the  situation  was  desper- 
ate, and  mounted  men  were  sent  out  immediately  in 
all  directions  to  find  a  woman. 

At  last,  a  Mexican  girl  was  found  in  a  wood- 
chopper's  camp,  and  was  brought  to  me.     She  was 

no 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

quite  young  and  very  ignorant  and  stupid,  and  spoke 
nothing  but  a  sort  of  Mexican  "lingo/'  and  did  not 
understand  a  word  of  English.  But  I  felt  that  my 
life  was  saved;  and  Bowen  fixed  up  a  place  on  the 
couch  for  her  to  sleep,  and  Jack  went  over  to  the 
unoccupied  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  cabin  and 
took  possession  of  the  absent  doctor's  bed. 

I  begged  Jack  to  hunt  up  a  Spanish  dictionary,  and 
fortunately  one  was  found  at  the  sutler's  store,  which, 
doubtless  the  sutler  or  his  predecessor  had  brought 
into  the  country  years  before. 

The  girl  did  not  know  anything.  I  do  not  think 
she  had  ever  been  inside  a  casa  before.  She  had 
washed  herself  in  mountain  streams,  and  did  not 
know  what  basins  and  sponges  were  for.  So  it  was 
of  no  use  to  point  to  the  objects  I  wanted. 

I  propped  myself  up  in  bed  and  studied  the  dic- 
tionary, and,  having  some  idea  of  the  pronunciation 
of  Latin  languages,  I  essayed  to  call  for  warm  water 
and  various  other  necessary  articles  needed  around  a 
sick  bed.  Sometimes  I  succeeded  in  getting  an  idea 
through  her  impervious  brain^  but  more  often  she 
would  stand  dazed  and  immovable  and  I  would  let 
the  dictionary  drop  from  my  tired  hands  and  fall 
back  upon  the  pillow  in  a  sweat  of  exhaustion.  Then 
Bowen  would  be  called  in,  and  with  the  help  of  some 
perfunctory  language  and  gestures  on  his  part,  this 
silent  creature  of  the  mountains  would  seem  to  wake 
up  and  try  to  understand. 

Ill 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

And  so  I  worried  through  those  dreadful  days — 
and  the  nights  !  Ah !  we  had  better  not  describe  them. 
The  poor  wild  thing  slept  the  sleep  of  death  and  could 
not  hear  my  loudest  calls  nor  desperate  shouts. 

So  Jack  attached  a  cord  to  her  pillow,  and  I  would 
tug  and  tug  at  that  and  pull  the  pillow  from  under  her 
head.  It  was  of  no  avail.  She  slept  peacefully  on,  and 
it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  lay  there  staring  at  her,  that  not 
even  Gabriel's  trump  would  ever  arouse  her. 

In  desperation  I  would  creep  out  of  bed  and  wait 
upon  myself  and  then  confess  to  Jack  and  the  Doctor 
next  day. 

Well,  we  had  to  let  the  creature  go,  for  she  was  of 
no  use,  and  the  Spanish  dictionary  was  laid  aside. 

I  struggled  along,  fighting  against  odds ;  how  I  ever 
got  well  at  all  is  a  wonder,  when  I  think  of  all  the 
sanitary  precautions  taken  now-a-days  with  young 
mothers  and  babies.  The  Doctor  was  ordered  away 
and  another  one  came.  I  had  no  advice  or  help  from 
any  one.  Calomel  or  quinine  are  the  only  medicines 
I  remember  taking  myself  or  giving  to  my  child. 

But  to  go  back  a  little.  The  seventh  day  after  the 
birth  of  the  baby,  a  delegation  of  several  squaws, 
wives  of  chiefs,  came  to  pay  me  a  formal  visit.  They 
brought  me  some  finely  woven  baskets,  and  a  beauti- 
ful pappoose-basket  or  cradle,  such  as  they  carry  their 
own  babies  in.  This  was  made  of  the  lightest  wood, 
and  covered  with  the  finest  skin  of  fawn,  tanned  with 
birch  bark  by  their  own  hands,  and  embroidered  in 

112 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

blue  beads ;  it  was  their  best  work.  I  admired  it,  and 
tried  to  express  to  them  my  thanks.  These  squaws 
took  my  baby  (he  was  lying  beside  me  on  the  bed), 
then,  cooing  and  chuckling,  they  looked  about  the 
room,  until  they  found  a  small  pillow,  which  they 
laid  into  the  basket-cradle,  then  put  my  baby  in,  drew 
the  flaps  together,  and  laced  him  into  it;  then  stood 
it  up,  and  laid  it  down,  and  laughed  again  in  their 
gentle  manner,  and  finally  soothed  him  to  sleep.  I 
was  quite  touched  by  the  friendliness  of  it  all.  They 
laid  the  cradle  on  the  table  and  departed.  Jack  went 
out  to  bring  Major  Worth  in,  to  see  the  pretty  sight, 
and  as  the  two  entered  the  room.  Jack  pointed  to  the 
pappoose-basket. 

Major  Worth  tip-toed  forward,  and  gazed  into  the 
cradle;  he  did  not  speak  for  some  time;  then,  in  his 
inimitable  way,  and  half  under  his  breath,  he  said, 
slowly,  "Well,  I'll  be  d— d!"  This  was  all,  but 
when  he  turned  towards  the  bedside,  and  came  and 
shook  my  hand,  his  eyes  shone  with  a  gentle  and 
tender  look. 

And  so  was  the  new  recruit  introduced  to  the 
Captain  of  Company  K. 

And  now  there  must  be  a  bath-tub  for  the  baby. 
The  sutler  rummaged  his  entire  place,  to  find  some- 
thing that  might  do.  At  last,  he  sent  me  a  freshly 
scoured  tub,  that  looked  as  if  it  might,  at  no  very 
remote  date,  have  contained  salt  mackerel  marked 
''A  One."     So  then,  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock, 

113 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

our  little  half-window  was  black  with  the  heads  of 
the  curious  squaws  and  bucks,  trying  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  fair  baby's  bath.  A  wonderful  performance, 
it  appeared  to  them. 

Once  a  week  this  room,  which  was  now  a  nursery 
combined  with  bedroom  and  living-room,  was  over- 
hauled by  the  stalwart  Bowen.  The  baby  was  put 
to  sleep  and  laced  securely  into  the  pappoose-basket. 
He  was  then  carried  into  the  kitchen,  laid  on  the 
dresser,  and  I  sat  by  with  a  book  or  needle-work 
watching  him,  until  Bowen  had  finished  the  room. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  I  noticed  a  ledger  lying 
upon  one  of  the  shelves.  I  looked  into  it,  and  imagine 
my  astonishment,  when  I  read:  *^Aunt  Hepsey's 
Muffins,"  ''Sarah's  Indian  Pudding,"  and  on  another 
page,  "Hatty's  Lemon  Tarts,"  "Aunt  Susan's  Method 
of  Cooking  a  Leg  of  Mutton,"  and  "Josie  Well's 
Pressed  Calf  Liver."  Here  were  my  own,  my  very 
own  family  recipes,  copied  into  Bowen's  ledger,  in 
large  illiterate  characters;  and  on  the  fly-leaf, 
"Charles  Bowen's  Receipt  Book."  I  burst  into  a 
good  hearty  laugh,  almost  the  first  one  I  had  enjoyed 
since  I  arrived  at  Camp  Apache. 

The  long-expected  promotion  to  a  first  lieutenancy 
came  at  about  this  time.  Jack  was  assigned  to  a 
company  which  was  stationed  at  Camp  MacDowell,  but 
his  departure  for  the  new  post  was  delayed  until  the 
spring  should  be  more  advanced  and  I  should  be  able 
to  undertake  the  long,  rough  trip  with  our  young  child. 

114 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

The  second  week  in  April,  my  baby  just  nine  weeks 
old,  we  began  to  pack  up.  I  had  gained  a  little  in 
experience,  to  be  sure,  but  I  had  lost  my  health  and 
strength.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  care  of  a  young 
infant,  and  depended  entirely  upon  the  advice  of  the 
Post  Surgeon,  who  happened  at  that  time  to  be  a 
young  man,  much  better  versed  in  the  sawing  off 
of  soldiers'  legs  than  in  the  treatment  of  young 
mothers  and  babies. 

The  packing  up  was  done  under  difficulties,  and 
with  much  help  from  our  faithful  Bowen.  It  was 
arranged  for  Mrs.  Bailey,  who  was  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer with  her  parents  at  Fort  Whipple,  to  make  the 
trip  at  the  same  time,  as  our  road  to  Camp  MacDowell 
took  us  through  Fort  Whipple.  There  were  provided 
two  ambulances  with  six  mules  each,  two  baggage- 
wagons,  an  escort  of  six  calvarymen  fully  armed,  and 
a  guide.  Lieutenant  Bailey  was  to  accompany  his 
wife  on  the  trip. 

I  was  genuinely  sorry  to  part  with  Major  Worth, 
but  in  the  excitement  and  fatigue  of  breaking  up  our 
home,  I  had  little  time  to  think  of  my  feelings.  My 
young  child  absorbed  all  my  time.  Alas!  for  the 
ignorance  of  young  women,  thrust  by  circumstances 
into  such  a  situation!  I  had  miscalculated  my 
strength,  for  I  had  never  known  illness  in  my  life, 
and  there  was  no  one  to  tell  me  any  better.  I  reck- 
oned upon  my  superbly  healthy  nature  to  bring  me 

115 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

through.     In  fact,  I  did  not  think  much  about  it;  I 
simply  got  ready  and  went,  as  soldiers  do. 

I  heard  them  say  that  we  were  not  to  cross  the 
MogoUon  range,  but  were  to  go  to  the  north  of  it, 
ford  the  Colorado  Chiquito  at  Sunset  Crossing,  and 
so  on  to  Camp  Verde  and  Whipple  Barracks  by  the 
Stoneman's  Lake  road.  It  sounded  poetic  and  pretty. 
Colorado  Chiquito,  Sunset  Crossing,  and  Stoneman's 
Lake  road!  I  thought  to  myself,  they  were  prettier 
than  any  of  the  names  I  had  heard  in  Arizona. 

(116) 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  MEMORABI^K  JOURNEY 

How  broken  plunged  the  steep  descent! 
How  barren!     Desolate  and  rent 
By  earthquake  shock,  the  land  lay  dead, 
Like   some  proud  king  in  old-time  slain. 
An  ugly  skeleton,  it  gleamed 
In  burning  sands.     The  fiery  rain 
Of  fierce  volcanoes  here  had  sown 
Its  ashes.     Burnt  and  black  and  seamed 
With   thunder-strokes   and   strown  ^ 

With  cinders.     Yea,  so  overthrown, 
That  wilder  men  than  we  had  said. 
On  seeing  this,  with   gathered  breath, 
''We  come  on  the  confines  of  death!  ^' 

—JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

Six  good  cavalrymen  galloped  along  by  our  side, 
on  the  morning  of  April  24th,  1875,  as  with  two 
ambulances,  two  army  wagons,  and  a  Mexican  guide, 
we  drove  out  of  Camp  Apache  at  a  brisk  trot. 

The  drivers  were  all  armed,  and  spare  rifles  hung 
inside  the  ambulances.  I  wore  a  small  derringer, 
with  a  narrow  belt  filled  with  cartridges.  An  incon- 
gruous sight,  methinks  now,  it  must  have  been.  A 
young  mother,  pale  and  thin,  a  child  of  scarce  three 
months  in  her  arms,  and  a  pistol  belt  around  her 
waist ! 

I  scarcely  looked  back  at  Camp  Apache.  We  had  a 
long  day's  march  before  us,  and  we  looked  ahead. 
Towards  night  we  made  camp  at  Cooley's  ranch,  and 

117 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

slept  inside,  on  the  floor.  Cooley  was  interpreter  and 
scout,  and  although  he  was  a  white  man,  he  had 
married  a  young  Indian  girl,  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  chiefs  and  was  known  as  a  squaw  man.  There 
seemed  to  be  two  Indian  girls  at  his  ranch ;  they  were 
both  tidy  and  good-looking,  and  they  prepared  us  a 
most  appetizing  supper. 

The  ranch  had  spaces  for  windows,  covered  with 
thin  unbleached  muslin  (or  manta,  as  it  is  always 
called  out  there),  glass  windows  being  then  too  great 
a  luxury  in  that  remote  place.  There  were  some  par- 
titions inside  the  ranch,  but  no  doors ;  and,  of  course, 
no  floors  except  adobe.  Several  half-breed  children, 
nearly  naked,  stood  and  gazed  at  us  as  we  prepared 
for  rest.  This  was  interesting  and  picturesque  from 
many  standpoints  perhaps,  but  it  did  not  tend  to  make 
me  sleepy.  I  lay  gazing  into  the  fire  which  was 
smouldering  in  the  corner,  and  finally  I  said,  in  a 
whisper,  '7^^^?  which  girl  do  you  think  is  Cooley's 
wife?" 

*'I  don't  know,"  answered  this  cross  and  tired  man ; 
and  then  added,  "both  of  'em,  I  guess." 

Now  this  was  too  awful,  but  I  knew  he  did  not 
intend  for  me  to  ask  any  more  questions.  I  had  a 
difficult  time,  in  those  days,  reconciling  what  I  saw 
with  what  I  had  been  taught  was  right,  and  I  had  to 
sort  over  my  ideas  and  deep-rooted  prejudices  a  good 
many  times. 

ii8 


A  MEMORABLE  JOURNEY 

The  two  pretty  squaws  prepared  a  nice  breakfast 
for  us,  and  we  set  out,  quite  refreshed,  to  travel  over 
the  malapais  (as  the  great  lava-beds  in  that  part 
of  the  country  are  called).  There  was  no  trace  of  a 
road.  A  few  hours  of  this  grinding  and  crunching 
over  crushed  lava  wearied  us  all,  and  the  animals 
found  it  hard  pulling,  although  the  country  was  level. 

We  crossed  Silver  Creek  without  difficulty,  and  ar- 
rived at  Stinson's  ranch,  after  traveling  twenty-five 
miles,  mostly  malapais.  Do  not  for  a  moment 
think  of  these  ranches  as  farms.  Some  of  them  were 
deserted  sheep  ranches,  and  had  only  adobe  walls 
standing  in  ruins.  But  the  camp  must  have  a  name, 
and  on  the  old  maps  of  Arizona  these  names  are  still 
to  be  found.  Of  course,  on  the  new  railroad  maps, 
they  are  absent.  They  were  generally  near  a  spring 
or  a  creek,  consequently  were  chosen  as  camps. 

Mrs.  Bailey  had  her  year-old  boy,  Howard,  with  her. 
We  began  to  experience  the  utmost  inconvenience  from 
the  lack  of  warm  water  and  other  things  so  necessary 
to  the  health  and  comfort  of  children.  But  we  tried 
to  make  light  of  it  all,  and  the  two  Lieutenants  tried, 
in  a  man's  way,  to  help  us  out.  We  declared  we  must 
have  some  clean  towels  for  the  next  day,  so  we  tried 
to  rinse  out,  in  the  cold,  hard  water  of  the  well,  those 
which  we  had  with  us,  and,  as  it  was  now  nightfall 
and  there  was  no  fire  inside  this  apparently  deserted 
ranch,  the  two  Lieutenants  stood  and  held  the  wet 
towels  before  the  camp-fire  until  they  were  dry. 

119 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Mrs.  Bailey  and  I,  too  tired  to  move,  sat  and 
watched  them  and  had  each  our  own  thoughts.  She 
was  an  army  girl  and  perhaps  had  seen  such  things 
before,  but  it  was  a  situation  that  did  not  seem  quite 
in  keeping  with  my  ideas  of  the  fitness  of  things  in 
general,  and  with  the  uniform  in  particular.  The 
uniform,  associated  in  my  mind  with  brilliant  func- 
tions, guard-mount,  parades  and  full-dress  weddings 
— the  uniform,  in  fact,  that  I  adored.  As  I  sat, 
gazing  at  them,  they  both  turned  around,  and,  realiz- 
ing how  almost  ludicrous  they  looked,  they  began  to 
laugh.  Whereupon  we  all  four  laughed  and  Jack 
said:  "Nice  work  for  United  States  officers!  hey, 
Bailey?'' 

"It  might  be  worse,"  sighed  the  handsome,  blond- 
haired  Bailey. 

Thirty  miles  the  next  day,  over  a  good  road,  brought 
us  to  Walker's  ranch,  on  the  site  of  old  Camp  Supply. 
This  ranch  was  habitable  in  a  way,  and  the  owner 
said  we  might  use  the  bedrooms;  but  the  wild-cats 
about  the  place  were  so  numerous  and  so  troublesome 
in  the  night,  that  we  could  not  sleep.  I  have  men- 
tioned the  absence  of  windows  in  these  ranches;  we 
were  now  to  experience  the  great  inconvenience  result- 
ing therefrom,  for  the  low  open  spaces  furnished 
great  opportunity  for  the  cats.  In  at  one  opening, 
and  out  at  another  they  flew,  first  across  the  Bailey's 
bed,  then  over  ours.  The  dogs  caught  the  spirit  of 
the  chase,  and  added  their  noise  to  that  of  the  cats. 

1 20 


A  MEMORABLE  JOURNEY 

Both  babies  began  to  cry,  and  then  up  got  Bailey 
and  threw  his  heavy  campaign  boots  at  the  cats,  with 
some  fitting  remarks.  A  momentary  silence  reigned, 
and  we  tried  again  to  sleep.  Back  came  the  cats,  and 
then  came  Jack's  turn  with  boots  and  travelling 
satchels.  It  was  all  of  no  avail,  and  we  resigned  our- 
selves. Cruelly  tired,  here  we  were,  we  two  women, 
compelled  to  sit  on  hard  boxes  or  the  edge  of  a  bed,  to 
quiet  our  poor  babies,  all  through  that  night,  at  that 
old  sheep-ranch.  Like  the  wretched  emigrant,  differ- 
ing only  from  her  inasmuch  as  she,  never  having 
known  comfort  perhaps,  cannot  realize  her  misery. 

The  two  Lieutenants  slipped  on  their  blouses,  and 
sat  looking  helplessly  at  us,  waging  war  on  the  cats 
at  intervals.  And  so  the  dawn  found  us,  our  nerves 
at  a  tension,  and  our  strength  gone — a  poor  prepara- 
tion for  the  trying  day  which  was  to  follow. 

We  were  able  to  buy  a  couple  of  sheep  there,  to  take 
with  us  for  supplies,  and  some  antelope  meat.  We 
could  not  indulge  in  foolish  scruples,  but  I  tried  not 
to  look  when  they  tied  the  live  sheep  and  threw  them 
into  one  of  the  wagons. 

Quite  early  in  the  day,  we  met  a  man  who  said  he 
had  been  fired  upon  by  some  Indians  at  Sanford's 
Pass.  We  thought  perhaps  he  had  been  scared  by 
some  stray  shot,  and  we  did  not  pay  much  attention 
to  his  story. 

Soon  after,  however,  we  passed  a  sort  of  old  adobe 
ruin,  out  of  which  crept  two  bare-headed  Mexicans, 

121 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

so  badly  frightened  that  their  dark  faces  were  palHd; 
their  hair  seemed  standing  on  end,  and  they  looked 
stark  mad  with  fear.  They  talked  wildly  to  the  guide, 
and  gesticulated,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the 
Pass.  They  had  been  fired  at,  and  their  ponies  taken 
by  some  roving  Apaches.  They  had  been  in  hiding 
for  over  a  day,  and  were  hungry  and  miserable.  We 
gave  them  food  and  drink.  They  implored  us,  by  the 
Holy  Virgin,  not  to  go  through  the  Pass. 

What  was  to  be  done?  The  officers  took  counsel; 
the  men  looked  to  their  arms.  It  was  decided  to  go 
through.  Jack  examined  his  revolver,  and  saw  that 
my  pistol  was  loaded.  I  was  instructed  minutely 
what  to  do,  in  case  we  were  attacked. 

For  miles  we  strained  our  eyes,  looking  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  these  men  had  come. 

At  last,  in  mid-afternoon,  we  approached  the  Pass, 
a  narrow  defile  winding  down  between  high  hills  from 
this  table-land  to  the  plain  below.  To  say  that  we 
feared  an  ambush,  would  not  perhaps  convey  a  very 
clear  idea  of  how  /  felt  on  entering  the  Pass. 

There  was  not  a  word  spoken.  I  obeyed  orders, 
and  lay  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  ambulance ;  I  took 
my  derringer  out  of  the  holster  and  cocked  it.  I 
looked  at  my  little  boy  lying  helpless  there  beside  me, 
and  at  his  delicate  temples,  lined  with  thin  blue 
veins,  and  wondered  if  I  could  follow  out  the  instruc- 
tions I  had  received:  for  Jack  had  said,  after  the 
decision  was  made,  to  go  through  the  Pass,  "Now, 

122 


A  MEMORABLE  JOURNEY 

Mattie,  I  don't  think  for  a  minute  that  there  are  any 
Injuns  in  that  Pass,  and  you  must  not  be  afraid. 
We  have  got  to  go  through  it  any  way ;  but" — he  hesi- 
tated,— ''we  may  be  mistaken;  there  may  be  a  few 
of  them  in  there,  and  they'll  have  a  mighty  good 
chance  to  get  in  a  shot  or  two.  And  now  listen :  if  Tm 
hit,  you'll  know  what  to  do.  You  have  your  der- 
ringer; and  when  you  see  that  there  is  no  help  for  it, 
if  they  get  away  with  the  whole  outfit,  why,  there's 
only  one  thing  to  be  done.  Don't  let  them  get  the 
baby,  for  they  will  carry  you  both  ofif  and — well,  you 
know  the  squaws  are  much  more  cruel  than  the  bucks. 
Don't  let  them  get  either  of  you  alive.  Now" — to 
the  driver — "go  on." 

Jack  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and  seldom  spoke 
much  in  times  like  that. 

So  I  lay  very  quiet  in  the  bottom  of  the  ambulance. 
I  realized  that  we  were  in  great  danger.  My  thoughts 
flew  back  to  the  East,  and  I  saw,  as  in  a  flash,  my 
father  and  mother,  sisters  and  brother ;  I  think  I  tried 
to  say  a  short  prayer  for  them,  and  that  they  might 
never  know  the  worst.  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  my 
husband's  face.  There  he  sat,  rifle  in  hand,  his 
features  motionless,  his  eyes  keenly  watching  out  from 
one  side  of  the  ambulance,  while  a  stalwart  cavalry- 
man, carbine  in  hand,  watched  the  other  side  of  the 
narrow  defile.    The  minutes  seemed  like  hours. 

The  driver  kept  his  animals  steady,  and  we  rattled 
along. 

123 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

At  last,  as  I  perceived  the  steep  slope  of  the  road,  I 
looked  out,  and  saw  that  the  Pass  was  widening  out, 
and  we  must  be  nearing  the  end  of  it.  "Keep  still,'' 
said  Jack,  without  moving  a  feature.  My  heart 
seemed  then  to  stop  beating,  and  I  dared  not  move 
again,  until  I  heard  him  say,  ''Thank  God,  we're  out 
of  it !  Get  up,  Mattie !  See  the  river  yonder  ?  We'll 
cross  that  to-night,  and  then  we'll  be  out  of  their  God 
d d  country!" 

This  was  Jack's  way  of  working  oflf  his  excitement, 
and  I  did  not  mind  it.  I  knew  he  was  not  afraid  of 
Apaches  for  himself,  but  for  his  wife  and  child.  And 
if  I  had  been  a  man,  I  should  have  said  just  as  much 
and  perhaps  more. 

We  were  now  down  in  a  flat  country,  and  low  alkali 
plains  lay  between  us  and  the  river.  My  nerves 
gradually  recovered  from  the  tension  in  which  they 
had  been  held;  the  driver  stopped  his  team  for  a 
moment,  the  other  ambulance  drove  up  alongside  of 
us,  and  Ella  Bailey  and  I  looked  at  each  other;  we 
did  not  talk  any,  but  I  believe  we  cried  just  a  little. 
Then  Mr.  Bailey  and  Jack  (thinking  we  were  giving 
way,  I  suppose)  pulled  out  their  big  flasks,  and  we 
had  to  take  a  cup  of  good  whiskey,  weakened  up  with 
a  little  water  from  our  canteens,  which  had  been  filled 
at  Walker's  ranch  in  the  morning.  Great  Heavens! 
I  thought,  was  it  this  morning  that  we  left  Walker's 
ranch,  or  was  it  a  year  ago?  So  much  had  I  lived 
through  in  a  few  hours. 

(124) 


CHAPTER  XV 

li^ORDING  THE  IvlTTW  COWRADO 

At  a  bend  in  the  road  the  Mexican  guide  galloped 
up  near  the  ambulance,  and  pointing  off  to  the  west- 
ward with  a  graceful  gesture,  said:  ''Colorado 
Chiquito!  Colorado  Chiquito!"  And,  sure  enough, 
there  in  the  afternoon  sun  lay  the  narrow  winding 
river,  its  surface  as  smooth  as  glass,  and  its  banks  as  if 
covered  with  snow. 

We  drove  straight  for  the  ford,  known  as  Sunset 
Crossing.  The  guide  was  sure  he  knew  the  place. 
But  the  river  was  high,  and  I  could  not  see  how 
anybody  could  cross  it  without  a  boat.  The  Mexican 
rode  his  pony  in  once  or  twice;  shook  his  head,  and 
said  in  Spanish,  "there  was  much  quicksand.  The 
old  ford  had  changed  much  since  he  saw  it."  He 
galloped  excitedly  to  and  fro,  along  the  bank  of  the 
river,  always  returning  to  the  same  place,  and  declar- 
ing ''it  was  the  ford;  there  was  no  other;  he  knew 
it  well." 

But  the  wagons  not  having  yet  arrived,  it  was  de- 
cided not  to  attempt  crossing  until  morning,  when 
we  could  get  a  fresh  start. 

The  sun  was  gradually  sinking  in  the  west,  but  the 
heat  down  in  that  alkali  river-bottom  even  at  that 
early  season  of  the  year  was  most  uncomfortable.     I 

125 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

was  worn  out  with  fright  and  fatigue;  my  poor  child 
cried  piteously  and  incessantly.  Nothing  was  of  any 
avail  to  soothe  him.  After  the  tents  were  pitched  and 
the  camp-fires  made,  some  warm  water  was  brought, 
and  I  tried  to  wash  away  some  of  the  dust  from  him, 
but  the  alkali  water  only  irritated  his  delicate  skin, 
and  his  head,  where  it  had  lain  on  my  arm,  was  in- 
flamed by  the  constant  rubbing.  It  began  to  break 
out  in  ugly  blisters ;  I  was  in  despair.  We  were  about 
as  wretchedly  off  as  two  human  beings  could  be,  and 
live,  it  seemed  to  me.  The  disappointment  at  not  get- 
ting across  the  river,  combined  with  the  fear  that  the 
Indians  were  still  in  the  neighborhood,  added  to  my 
nervousness  and  produced  an  exhaustion  which,  under 
other  circumstances,  would  have  meant  collapse. 

The  mournful  and  demoniacal  cries  of  the  coyotes 
filled  the  night ;  they  seemed  to  come  close  to  the  tent, 
and  their  number  seemed  to  be  legion.  I  lay  with 
eyes  wide  open,  watching  for  the  day  to  come,  and 
resolving  each  minute  that  if  I  ever  escaped  alive 
from  that  lonely  river-bottom  with  its  burning  alkali, 
and  its  millions  of  howling  coyotes,  I  would  never, 
never  risk  being  placed  in  such  a  situation  again. 

At  dawn  everybody  got  up  and  dressed.  I  looked 
in  my  small  hand-mirror,  and  it  seemed  to  me  my  hair 
had  turned  a  greyish  color,  and  while  it  was  not 
exactly  white,  the  warm  chestnut  tinge  never  came 
back  into  it,  after  that  day  and  night  of  terror.  My 
eyes  looked  back  at  me  large  and  hollow  from  the 

126 


FORDING  THE  LITTLE  COLORADO 

small  glass,  and  I  was  in  that  state  when  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  the  look  of  Death  in  one's  own  face.  I  think 
sometimes  it  comes,  after  we  have  thought  ourselves 
near  the  borders.  And  I  surely  had  been  close  to 
them  the  day  before. 


If  perchance  any  of  my  readers  have  followed  this 
narrative  so  far,  and  there  be  among  them  possibly 
any  men,  young  or  old,  I  would  say  to  such  ones: 
''Desist!  For  what  I  am  going  to  tell  about  in  this 
chapter,  and  possibly  another,  concerns  nobody  but 
women,  and  my  story  will  now,  for  awhile,  not  con- 
cern itself  with  the  Eighth  Foot,  nor  the  army,  nor 
the  War  Department,  nor  the  Interior  Department, 
nor  the  strategic  value  of  Sunset  Crossing,  which  may 
now  be  a  railroad  station,  for  all  I  know.  It  is  simply 
a  story  of  my  journey  from  the  far  bank  of  the  Little 
Colorado  to  Fort  Whipple,  and  then  on,  by  a  change 
of  orders,  over  mountains  and  valleys,  cactus  plains 
and  desert  lands,  to  the  banks  of  the  Great  Colorado. 

My  attitude  towards  the  places  I  travelled  through 
was  naturally  influenced  by  the  fact  that  I  had  a 
young  baby  in  my  arms  the  entire  way,  and  that  I 
was  not  able  to  endure  hardship  at  that  time.  For 
usually,  be  it  remembered,  at  that  period  of  a  child's 
life,  both  mother  and  infant  are  not  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  doctor  and  trained  nurse,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
assistance  so  gladly  rendered  by  those  near  and  deair. 

127 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

The  morning  of  the  28th  of  April  dawned  shortly 
after  midnight,  as  mornings  in  Arizona  generally 
do  at  that  season,  and  after  a  hasty  camp  breakfast, 
and  a  good  deal  of  reconnoitring  on  the  part  of  the 
officers,  who  did  not  seem  to  be  exactly  satisfied  about 
the  Mexican's  knowledge  of  the  ford,  they  told  him  to 
push  his  pony  in,  and  cross  if  he  could. 

He  managed  to  pick  his  way  across  and  back,  after 
a  good  deal  of  floundering,  and  we  decided  to  try  the 
ford.  First  they  hitched  up  ten  mules  to  one  of  the 
heavily  loaded  baggage-wagons,  the  teamster  cracked 
his  whip,  and  in  they  went.  But  the  quicksand 
frightened  the  leaders,  and  they  lost  their  courage. 
Now  when  a  mule  loses  courage,  in  the  water,  he  puts 
his  head  down  and  is  done  for.  The  leaders  disap- 
peared entirely,  then  the  next  two  and  finally  the 
whole  ten  of  them  were  gone,  irrevocably,  as  I  thought. 
But  like  a  flash,  the  officers  shouted:  "Cut  away 
those  mules !  Jump  in  there !"  and  amid  other  ex- 
pletives the  men  plunged  in,  and  feeling  around  under 
the  water  cut  the  poor  animals  loose  and  they  began 
to  crawl  out  on  the  other  bank.  I  drew  a  long  breath, 
for  I  thought  the  ten  mules  were  drowned. 

The  guide  picked  his  way  over  again  to  the  other 
side  and  caught  them  up,  and  then  I  began  to 
wonder  how  on  earth  we  should  ever  get  across. 

There  lay  the  heavy  army  wagon,  deep  mired  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream,  and  what  did  I  see?  Our 
army  chests,  floating  away  down  the  river.     I  cried 

128 


FORDING  THE  LITTLE  COLORADO 

out:  "Oh!  do  save  our  chests!"  ^'They're  all  right, 
we'll  get  them  presently/'  said  Jack.  It  seemed  a  long 
time  to  me,  before  the  soldiers  could  get  them  to  the 
bank,  which  they  did,  with  the  aid  of  stout  ropes.  All 
our  worldly  goods  were  in  those  chests,  and  I  knew 
they  were  soaked  wet  and  probably  ruined ;  but,  after 
all,  what  did  it  matter,  in  the  face  of  the  serious 
problem  which  confronted  us? 

In  the  meantime,  some  of  the  men  had  floated  the 
other  boxes  and  trunks  out  of  the  wagon  back  to  the 
shore,  and  were  busy  taking  the  huge  vehicle  apart. 
Any  one  who  knows  the  size  of  an  army  wagon  will 
realize  that  this  was  hard  work,  especially  as  the 
wagon  was  mired,  and  nearly  submerged.  But  the 
men  worked  desperately,  and  at  last  succeeded  in 
getting  every  part  of  it  back  onto  the  dry  land. 

Somebody  stirred  up  the  camp-fire  and  put  the 
kettle  on,  and  Mrs.  Bailey  and  I  mixed  up  a  smoking 
strong  hot  toddy  for  those  brave  fellows,  who  were  by 
this  time  well  exhausted.  Then  they  set  to  work  to 
make  a  boat,  by  drawing  a  large  canvas  under  the 
body  of  the  wagon,  and  fastening  it  securely.  For 
this  Lieutenant  of  mine  had  been  a  sailor-man  and 
knew  well  how  to  meet  emergencies. 

One  or  two  of  the  soldiers  had  now  forded  the 
stream  on  horseback,  and  taken  over  a  heavy  rope, 
which  was  made  fast  to  our  improvised  boat.  I  was 
acquainted  with  all  kinds  of  boats,  from  a  catamaran 
to  a  full-rigged  ship,  but  never  a  craft  like  this  had 

129 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

I  seen.  Over  the  sides  we  clambered,  however,  and 
were  ferried  across  the  treacherous  and  glassy  waters 
of  the  Little  Colorado.  All  the  baggage  and  the  two 
ambulances  were  ferried  over,  and  the  other  wagon 
was  unloaded  and  drawn  over  by  means  of  ropes. 

This  proceeding  took  all  day,  and  of  course  we  could 
get  no  farther,  and  were  again  obliged  to  camp  in  that 
most  uncomfortable  river-bottom.  But  we  felt  safer 
on  that  side.  I  looked  at  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
river,  and  its  alkali  shores,  and  the  picture  became 
indelibly  impressed  upon  my  memory.  The  unpleas- 
ant reality  destroyed  any  poetic  associations  which 
might  otherwise  have  clung  to  the  name  of  Sunset 
Crossing  in  my  ever  vivid  imagination. 

After  the  tents  were  pitched,  and  the  camp  snugged 
up,  Mr.  Bailey  produced  some  champagne  and  we 
wished  each  other  joy,  that  we  had  made  the  dan- 
gerous crossing  and  escaped  the  perils  of  Sanford's 
Pass.  I  am  afraid  the  champagne  was  not  as  cold 
as  might  have  been  desired,  but  the  bottle  had  been 
wrapped  in  a  wet  blanket,  and  cooled  a  little  in  that 
way,  and  we  drank  it  with  zest,  from  a  mess-cup. 

(130) 


CHAPTER  XVI 

STONEMAN'S  I.AKE 

The  road  began  now  to  ascend,  and  after  twenty 
miles'  travelling  we  reached  a  place  called  Updyke's 
Tanks.  It  was  a  nice  place,  with  plenty  of  wood  and 
grass.  The  next  day  we  camped  at  Jay  Coxe's  Tanks. 
It  was  a  hard  day's  march,  and  I  was  tired  out  when 
we  arrived  there.  The  ambulance  was  simply  jerked 
over  those  miles  of  fearful  rocks;  one  could  not  say 
driven  or  dragged  over,  for  we  were  pitched  from  rock 
to  rock  the  entire  distance. 

Stoneman's  Lake  Road  was  famous,  as  I  after- 
wards heard.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  for  me  that 
I  did  not  know  about  it  in  advance. 

The  sure-footed  mules  picked  their  way  over  these 
sharp-edged  rocks.  There  was  not  a  moment's  res- 
pite. We  asked  a  soldier  to  help  with  holding  the 
baby,  for  my  arms  gave  out  entirely,  and  were  as  if 
paralyzed.  The  jolting  threw  us  all  by  turns  against 
the  sides  of  the  ambulance  (which  was  not  padded), 
and  we  all  got  some  rather  bad  bruises.  We  finally 
bethought  ourselves  of  the  pappoose  basket,  which 
we  had  brought  along  in  the  ambulance,  having  at  the 
last  moment  no  other  place  to  put  it.  So  a  halt  was 
called,  we  placed  the  tired  baby  in  this  semi-cradle, 
laced  the  sides  snugly  over  him,  and  were  thus  enabled 

131 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

to  carry  him  over  those  dreadful  roads  without 
danger. 

He  did  not  cry  much,  but  the  dust  made  him 
thirsty.  I  could  not  give  him  nourishment  without 
stopping  the  entire  train  of  wagons,  on  account  of 
the  constant  pitching  of  the  ambulance;  delay  was 
not  advisable  or  expedient,  so  my  poor  little  son  had 
to  endure  with  the  rest  of  us.  The  big  Alsatian 
cavalryman  held  the  cradle  easily  in  his  strong  arms, 
and  so  the  long  miles  were  travelled,  one  by  one. 

At  noon  of  this  day  we  made  a  refreshing  halt,  built 
a  fire  and  took  some  luncheon.  We  found  a  shady, 
grassy  spot,  upon  which  the  blankets  were  spread, 
and  we  stretched  ourselves  out  upon  them  and  rested. 
But  we  were  still  some  miles  from  water,  so  after  a 
short  respite  we  were  compelled  to  push  on.  We  had 
been  getting  steadily  higher  since  leaving  Sunset 
Crossing,  and  now  it  began  to  be  cold  and  looked  like 
snow.  Mrs.  Bailey  and  I  found  it  very  trying  to  meet 
these  changes  of  temperature.  A  good  place  for  the 
camp  was  found  at  Coxe's  Tanks,  trenches  were  dug 
around  the  tents,  and  the  earth  banked  up  to  keep  us 
warm.  The  cool  air,  our  great  fatigue,  and  the 
comparative  absence  of  danger  combined  to  give  us  a 
heavenly  night's  rest. 

Towards  sunset  of  the  next  day,  which  was  May 
Day,  our  cavalcade  reached  Stoneman's  Lake.  We 
had  had  another  rough  march,  and  had  reached  the 
limit   of   endurance,   or   thought   we   had,   when   we 

132 


STONEMAN'S  LAKE 

emerged  from  a  mountain  pass  and  drew  rein  upon  the 
high  green  mesa  overlooking  Stoneman's  Lake,  a  beau- 
tiful blue  sheet  of  water  lying  there  away  below  us. 
It  was  good  to  our  tired  eyes,  which  had  gazed  upon 
nothing  but  burnt  rocks  and  alkali  plains  for  so  many 
days.  Our  camp  was  beautiful  beyond  description, 
and  lay  near  the  edge  of  the  mesa,  whence  we  could 
look  down  upon  the  lovely  lake.  It  was  a  complete 
surprise  to  us,  as  points  of  scenery  were  not  much 
known  or  talked  about  then  in  Arizona.  Ponds  and 
lakes  were  unheard  of.  They  did  not  seem  to  exist  in 
that  drear  land  of  arid  wastes.  We  never  heard  of 
water  except  that  of  the  Colorado  or  the  Gila  or  the 
tanks  and  basins,  and  irrigation  ditches  of  the  settlers. 
But  here  was  a  real  Italian  lake,  a  lake  as  blue  as  the 
skies  above  us.  We  feasted  our  eyes  and  our  very 
souls  upon  it. 

Bailey  and  the  guide  shot  some  wild  turkeys,  and 
as  we  had  already  eaten  all  the  mutton  we  had  along, 
the  ragout  of  turkey  made  by  the  soldier-cook  for  our 
supper  tasted  better  to  us  tired  and  hungry  travellers, 
perhaps,  than  a  canvasback  at  Delmonico's  tastes  to 
the  weary  lounger  or  the  over-worked  financier. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  we  had  passed  a  sort  of 
sign-board,  with  the  rudely  written  inscription, 
''Camp  Starvation,"  and  we  had  heard  from  Mr. 
Bailey  the  story  of  the  tragic  misfortunes  at  this  very 
place  of  the  well-known  Hitchcock  family  of  Arizona. 
'1  he  road  was  lined  with  dry  bones,  and  skulls  of  oxen, 

133 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

white  and  bleached  in  the  sun,  lying  on  the  bare  rocks. 

Indeed,  at  every  stage  of  the  road  we  had  seen  evi- 
dences of  hard  travel,  exhausted  cattle,  anxious  team- 
sters, hunger  and  thirst,  despair,  starvation,  and  death. 

However,  Stoneman's  Lake  remains  a  joy  in  the 
memory,  and  far  and  away  the  most  beautiful  spot 
I  ever  saw  in  Arizona.  But  unless  the  approaches  to 
it  are  made  easier,  tourists  will  never  gaze  upon  it. 

In  the  distance  we  saw  the  **divide,"  over  which 
we  must  pass  in  order  to  reach  Camp  Verde,  which 
was  to  be  our  first  stopping  place,  and  we  looked 
joyfully  towards  the  next  day's  march,  which  we 
expected  would  bring  us  there. 

We  thought  the  worst  was  over  and,  before  re- 
tiring to  our  tents  for  the  night,  we  walked  over  to 
the  edge  of  the  high  mesa  and,  in  the  gathering 
shadows  of  twilight,  looked  down  into  the  depths  of 
that  beautiful  lake,  knowing  that  probably  we  should 
never  see  it  again. 

And  indeed,  in  all  the  years  I  spent  in  Arizona 
afterward,  I  never  even  heard  of  the  lake  again. 

I  wonder  now,  did  it  really  exist  or  was  it  an 
illusion,  a  dream,  or  the  mirage  which  appears  to  the 
desert  traveller,  to  satisfy  him  and  lure  him  on,  to 
quiet  his  imagination,  and  to  save  his  senses  from 
utter  extinction  ? 

In  the  morning  the  camp  was  all  astir  for  an  early 
move.    We  had  no  time  to  look  back :  we  were  starting 

134 


STONEMAN'S  LAKE 

for  a  long  day's  march,  across  the  ''divide/'  and  into 
Camp  Verde. 

But  we  soon  found  that  the  road  (if  road  it  could 
be  called)  was  worse  than  any  we  had  encountered. 
The  ambulance  was  pitched  and  jerked  from  rock  to 
rock  and  we  were  thumped  against  the  iron  frame 
work  in  a  most  dangerous  manner.  So  we  got  out  and 
picked  our  way  over  the  great  sharp  boulders. 

The  Alsatian  soldier  carried  the  baby,  who  lay  se- 
curely in  the  pappoose  cradle. 

One  of  the  cavalry  escort  suggested  my  taking  his 
horse,  but  I  did  not  feel  strong  enough  to  think 
of  mounting  a  horse,  so  great  was  my  discouragement 
and  so  exhausted  was  my  vitality.  Oh!  if  girls  only 
knew  about  these  things  I  thought!  For  just  a  little 
knowledge  of  the  care  of  an  infant  and  its  needs,  its 
nourishment  and  its  habits,  might  have  saved  both 
mother  and  child  from  such  utter  collapse. 

Little  by  little  we  gave  up  hope  of  reaching  Verde 
that  day.  At  four  o'clock  we  crossed  the  "divide," 
and  clattered  down  a  road  so  near  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  that  I  was  frightened  beyond  everything: 
my  senses  nearly  left  me.  Down  and  around,  this 
way  and  that,  near  the  edge,  then  back  again,  swaying, 
swerving,  pitching,  the  gravel  clattering  over  the 
precipice,  the  six  mules  trotting  their  fastest,  we 
reached  the  bottom  and  the  driver  pulled  up  his  team. 
"Beaver  Springs !"  said  he,  impressively,  loosening 
up  the  brakes. 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

As  Jack  lifted  me  out  of  the  ambulance,  I  said: 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?''  pointing  back  to  the  steep 
road.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "I  thought  it  was  better  for 
you  not  to  know ;  people  get  scared  about  such  things, 
when  they  know  about  them  before  hand." 

"But,"  I  remarked,  "such  a  break-neck  pace!" 
Then,  to  the  driver,  "Smith,  how  could  you  drive 
down  that  place  at  such  a  rate  and  frighten  me  so?" 

"Had  to,  ma'am,  or  we'd  a'gone  over  the  edge." 

I  had  been  brought  up  in  a  flat  country  down  near 
the  sea,  and  I  did  not  know  the  dangers  of  mountain 
travelling,  nor  the  difficulties  attending  the  piloting 
of  a  six-mule  team  down  a  road  like  that.  From  this 
time  on,  however,  Smith  rose  in  my  estimation.  I 
seemed  also  to  be  realizing  that  the  Southwest  was  a 
great  country  and  that  there  was  much  to  learn  about. 
Life  out  there  was  beginning  to  interest  me. 

Camp  Verde  lay  sixteen  miles  farther  on;  no  one 
knew  if  the  road  were  good  or  bad.  I  declared  I 
could  not  travel  another  mile,  even  if  they  all  went 
on  and  left  me  to  the  wolves  and  the  darkness  of 
Beaver  Springs. 

We  looked  to  our  provisions  and  took  account  of 
stock.  There  was  not  enough  for  the  two  families. 
We  had  no  flour  and  no  bread ;  there  was  only  a  small 
piece  of  bacon,  six  potatoes,  some  condensed  milk,  and 
some  chocolate.  The  Baileys  decided  to  go  on;  for 
Mrs.  Bailey  was  to  meet  her  sister  at  Verde  and  her 
parents  at  Whipple.     We   said  good-bye,   and  their 

136 


STONEMAN'S  LAKE 

ambulance  rolled  away.  Our  tent  was  pitched  and 
the  baby  was  laid  on  the  bed,  asleep  from  pure 
exhaustion. 

The  dread  darkness  of  night  descended  upon  us,  and 
the  strange  odors  of  the  bottom-lands  arose,  mingling 
with  the  delicious  smoky  smell  of  the  camp-fire. 

By  the  light  of  the  blazing  mesquite  wood,  we  now 
divided  what  provisions  we  had,  into  two  portions: 
one  for  supper,  and  one  for  breakfast.  A  very  light 
meal  we  had  that  evening,  and  I  arose  from  the  mess- 
table  unsatisfied  and  hungry. 

Jack  and  I  sat  down  by  the  camp-fire,  musing  over 
the  hard  times  we  were  having,  when  suddenly  I 
heard  a  terrified  cry  from  my  little  son.  We  rushed 
to  the  tent,  lighted  a  candle,  and  oh!  horror  upon 
horrors !  his  head  and  face  were  covered  with  large 
black  ants ;  he  was  wailing  helplessly,  and  beating  the 
air  with  his  tiny  arms. 

*'My  God!"  cried  Jack,  ''we're  camped  over  an 
ant-hill !" 

I  seized  the  child,  and  brushing  off  the  ants  as  I 
fled,  brought  him  out  to  the  fire,  where  by  its  light  I 
succeeded  in  getting  rid  of  them  all.  But  the  horror 
of  it!  Can  any  mother  brought  up  in  God's  country 
with  kind  nurses  and  loved  ones  to  minister  to  her 
child,  for  a  moment  imagine  how  I  felt  when  I  saw 
those  hideous,  three-bodied,  long-legged  black  ants 
crawling  over  my  baby's  face?  After  a  lapse  of 
years,  I  cannot  recall  that  moment  without  a  shudder. 

137 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

The  soldiers  at  last  found  a  place  which  seemed  to 
be  free  from  ant-hills,  and  our  tent  was  again  pitched, 
but  only  to  find  that  the  venomous  things  swarmed 
over  us  as  soon  as  we  lay  down  to  rest. 

And  so,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Missouri  emigrant, 
we  climbed  into  the  ambulance  and  lay  down  upon 
our  blankets  in  the  bottom  of  it,  and  tried  to  believe 
we  were  comfortable. 

My  long,  hard  journey  of  the  preceding  autumn, 
covering  a  period  of  two  months;  my  trying  experi- 
ences during  the  winter  at  Camp  Apache ;  the  sudden 
break-up  and  the  packing ;  the  lack  of  assistance  from 
a  nurse;  the  terrors  of  the  journey;  the  sympathy  for 
my  child,  who  suffered  from  many  ailments  and  prin- 
cipally from  lack  of  nourishment,  added  to  the  pro- 
found fatigue  I  felt,  had  reduced  my  strength  to  a 
minimum.  I  wonder  that  I  lived,  but  something  sus- 
tained me,  and  when  we  reached  Camp  Verde  the 
next  day,  and  drew  up  before  Lieutenant  O'Connell's 
quarters,  and  saw  Mrs.  O'Connell's  kind  face  beam- 
ing to  welcome  us,  I  felt  that  here  was  relief  at  last. 

The  tall  Alsatian  handed  the  pappoose  cradle  to 
Mrs.  O'Connell. 

"Gracious  goodness!  what  is  this?"  cried  the  be- 
wildered woman;  ''surely  it  cannot  be  your  baby! 
You  haven't  turned  entirely  Indian,  have  you, 
amongst  those  wild  Apaches?" 

I  felt  sorry  I  had  not  taken  him  out  of  the  basket 
before  we  arrived.    I  did  not  realize  the  impression  it 

138 


STONEMAN'S  LAKE 

would  make  at  Camp  Verde.  After  all,  they  did  not 
know  anything  about  our  life  at  Apache,  or  our  rough 
travels  to  get  back  from  there.  Here  were  lace- 
curtained  windows,  well-dressed  women,  smart  uni- 
forms, and,  in  fact,  civilization,  compared  with  what 
we  had  left. 

The  women  of  the  post  gathered  around  the  broad 
piazza,  to  see  the  wonder.  But  when  they  saw  the 
poor  little  wan  face,  the  blue  eyes  which  looked  sadly 
out  at  them  from  this  rude  cradle,  the  linen  bandages 
covering  the  back  of  the  head,  they  did  not  laugh 
any  more,  but  took  him  and  ministered  to  him,  as  only 
kind  women  can  minister  to  a  sick  baby. 

There  was  not  much  rest,  however,  for  we  had  to 
sort  and  rearrange  our  things,  and  dress  ourselves 
properly.  (Oh!  the  luxury  of  a  room  and  a  tub, 
after  that  journey!)  Jack  put  on  his  best  uniform, 
and  there  was  no  end  of  visiting,  in  spite  of  the  heat, 
which  was  considerable  even  at  that  early  date  in 
May.  The  day  there  would  have  been  pleasant 
enough  but  for  my  wretched  condition. 

The  next  morning  we  set  out  for  Fort  Whipple, 
making  a  long  day's  march,  and  arriving  late  in  the 
evening.  The  wife  of  the  Quartermaster,  a  total 
stranger  to  me,  received  us,  and  before  we  had  time 
to  exchange  the  usual  social  platitudes,  she  gave  one 
look  at  the  baby,  and  put  an  end  to  any  such  attempts. 
"You  have  a  sick  child ;  give  him  to  me ;''  then  I  told 
her  some  things,  and  she  said:   '1  wonder  he  is  alive.'' 

139 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Then  she  took  him  under  her  charge  and  declared  we 
should  not  leave  her  house  until  he  was  well  again. 
She  understood  all  about  nursing,  and  day  by  day, 
under  her  good  care,  and  Doctor  Henry  Lippincott's 
skilful  treatment,  I  saw  my  baby  brought  back  to  life 
again.  Can  I  ever  forget  Mrs.  Aldrich's  blessed 
kindness  ? 

Up  to  then,  I  had  taken  no  interest  in  Camp 
MacDowell,  where  was  stationed  the  company  into 
which  my  husband  was  promoted.  I  knew  it  was 
somewhere  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Territory,  and 
isolated.  The  present  was  enough.  I  was  meeting 
my  old  Fort  Russell  friends,  and  under  Doctor 
Lippincott's  good  care  I  was  getting  back  a  measure 
of  strength.  Camp  MacDowell  was  not  yet  a  reality 
to  me. 

We  met  again  Colonel  Wilkins  and  Mrs.  Wilkins 
and  Carrie,  and  Mrs.  Wilkins  thanked  me  for  bringing 
her  daughter  alive  out  of  those  wilds.  Poor  girl; 
'twas  but  a  few  months  when  we  heard  of  her  death, 
at  the  birth  of  her  second  child.  I  have  always 
thought  her  death  was  caused  by  the  long  hard 
journey  from  Apache  to  Whipple,  for  Nature  never 
intended  women  to  go  through  what  we  went  through, 
on  that  memorable  journey  by  Stoneman's  Lake. 

There  I  met  again  Captain  Porter,  and  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  progressed  any  in  his  courtship,  and  he, 
being  very  much  embarrassed,  said  he  did  not  know, 

140 


STONEMAN'S  LAKE 

but  if  patient  waiting  was  of  any  avail,  he  believed 
he  might  win  his  bride. 

After  we  had  been  at  Whipple  a  few  days,  Jack 
came  in  and  remarked  casually  to  Lieutenant  Aldrich, 
''Well,  I  heard  Bernard  has  asked  to  be  relieved  from 
Ehrenberg." 

"What!"  I  said,  ''the  lonely  man  down  there  on 
the  river — the  prisoner  of  Chillon — the  silent  one? 
Well,  they  are  going  to  relieve  him,  of  course?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Jack,  falteringly,  "if  they  can 
get  anyone  to  take  his  place." 

"Can't  they  order  some  one?"  I  inquired. 
"Of  course  they  can,"  he  replied,  and  then,  turning 
towards  the  window,  he  ventured:  "The  fact  is. 
Martha,  IVe  been  offered  it,  and  am  thinking  it  over." 
(The  real  truth  was,  that  he  had  applied  for  it, 
thinking  it  possessed  great  advantages  over  Camp 
MacDowell.) 

"What!  do  I  hear  aright?  Have  your  senses  left 
you?  Are  you  crazy?  Are  you  going  to  take  me  to 
that  awful  place?  Why,  Jack,  I  should  die  there!" 
"Now,  Martha,  be  reasonable;  listen  to  me,  and  if 
you  really  decide  against  it,  Til  throw  up  the  detail. 
But  don't  you  see,  we  shall  be  right  on  the  river,  the 
boat  comes  up  every  fortnight  or  so,  you  can  jump 
aboard  and  go  up  to  San  Francisco."  (Oh,  how 
alluring  that  sounded  to  my  ears!)  "Why,  it's  no 
trouble  to  get  out  of  Arizona  from  Ehrenberg.  Then, 
too,   I   shall  be  independent,   and  can   do   just  as   I 

141 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

like,  and  when  I  like/'  et  ccetera,  et  ccetera.  "Oh, 
you'll  be  making  the  greatest  mistake,  if  you  decide 
against  it.  As  for  MacDowell,  it's  a  hell  of  a  place, 
down  there  in  the  South;  and  you  never  will  be  able 
to  go  back  East  with  the  baby,  if  we  once  get  settled 
down  there.  Why,  it's  a  good  fifteen  days  from  the 
river." 

And  so  he  piled  up  the  arguments  in  favor  of 
Ehrenberg,  saying  finally,  ''You  need  not  stop  a  day 
there.  If  the  boat  happens  to  be  up,  you  can  jump 
right  aboard  and  start  at  once  down  river." 

All  the  discomforts  of  the  voyage  on  the  "New- 
bern,"  and  the  memory  of  those  long  days  spent  on 
the  river  steamer  in  August  had  paled  before  my 
recent  experiences.  I  flew,  in  imagination,  to  the 
deck  of  the  "Gila,"  and  to  good  Captain  Mellon,  who 
would  take  me  and  my  child  out  of  that  wretched 
Territory. 

"Yes,  yes,  let  us  go  then,"  I  cried;  for  here  came 
in  my  inexperience.  I  thought  I  was  choosing  the 
lesser  evil,  and  I  knew  that  Jack  believed  it  to  be  so, 
and  also  that  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  Ehrenberg, 
for  reasons  known  only  to  the  understanding  of  a 
military  man. 

So  it  was   decided  to  take  the  Ehrenberg   detail. 

(142) 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  COIvORADO  DESERT 

Some  serpents  slid  from  out  the  grass 
That  grew  in  tufts  by  shattered  stone, 
Then  hid  below  some  broken  mass 
Of  ruins  older  than  the  East, 
That  Time  had  eaten,  as  a  bone 
Is  eaten  by  some  savage  beast. 

Great  dull-eyed  rattlesnakes — they  lay 
All  loathsome,  yellow-skinned,  and  slept 
Coiled  tight  as  pine  knots  in  the  sun. 
With  flat  heads  through  the  centre  run; 
Then  struck  out  sharp,  then  rattling  crept 
Flat-bellied  down  the  dusty  way. 

—JOAQUIN  MILLEE. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  we  started  forth  for  Ehren- 
berg.  Our  escort  was  now  sent  back  to  Camp  Apache, 
and  the  Baileys  remained  at  Fort  Whipple,  so  our 
outfit  consisted  of  one  ambulance  and  one  army  wagon. 
One  or  two  soldiers  went  along,  to  help  with  the  teams 
and  the  camp. 

We  travelled  two  days  over  a  semi-civilized  coun- 
try, and  found  quite  comfortable  ranches  where  we 
spent  the  nights.  The  greatest  luxury  was  fresh 
milk,  and  we  enjoyed  that  at  these  ranches  in  Skull 
Valley.  They  kept  American  cows,  and  supplied 
Whipple  Barracks  with  milk  and  butter.     We  drank, 

143 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  drank,  and  drank  again,  and  carried  a  jugful  to 
our  bedside.  The  third  day  brought  us  to  CuUen's 
ranch,  at  the  edge  of  the  desert.  Mrs.  CuUen  was 
a  Mexican  woman  and  had  a  little  boy  named  Daniel ; 
she  cooked  us  a  delicious  supper  of  stewed  chicken, 
and  fried  eggs,  and  good  bread,  and  then  she  put  our 
boy  to  bed  in  Daniel's  crib.  I  felt  so  grateful  to  her ; 
and  with  a  return  of  physical  comfort,  I  began  to 
think  that  life,  after  all,  might  be  worth  the  living. 

Hopefully  and  cheerfully  the  next  morning  we 
entered  the  vast  Colorado  desert.  This  was  verily  the 
desert,  more  like  the  desert  which  our  imagination 
pictures,  than  the  one  we  had  crossed  in  September 
from  Mojave.  It  seemed  so  white,  so  bare,  so  endless, 
and  so  still;  irreclaimable,  eternal,  like  Death  itself. 
The  stillness  was  appalling.  We  saw  great  numbers 
of  lizards  darting  about  like  lightning;  they  were 
nearly  as  white  as  the  sand  itself,  and  sat  up  on  their 
hind  legs  and  looked  at  us  with  their  pretty,  beady 
black  eyes.  It 'seemed  very  far  off  from  everywhere 
and  everybody,  this  desert — but  I  knew  there  was  a 
camp  somewhere  awaiting  us,  and  our  mules  trotted 
patiently  on.  Towards  noon  they  began  to  raise  their 
heads  and  sniff  the  air ;  they  knew  that  water  was 
near.  They  quickened  their  pace,  and  we  soon  drew 
up  before  a  large  wooden  structure.  There  were  no 
trees  nor  grass  around  it.  A  Mexican  worked  the 
machinery  with  the  aid  of  a  mule,  and  water  was 
bought  for  our  twelve  animals,  at  so  much  per  head. 

144 


THE  COLORADO  DESERT 

The  place  was  called  Mesquite  Wells;  the  man  dwelt 
alone  in  his  desolation,  with  no  living  being  except 
his  mule  for  company.  How  could  he  endure  it!  I 
was  not  able,  even  faintly,  to  comprehend  it;  I  had 
not  lived  long  enough.  He  occupied  a  small  hut,  and 
there  he  staid,  year  in  and  year  out,  selling  water  to 
the  passing  traveller ;  and  I  fancy  that  travellers  were 
not  so  frequent  at  Mesquite  Wells  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago. 

The  thought  of  that  hermit  and  his  dreary  sur- 
roundings filled  my  mind  for  a  long  time  after  we 
drove  away,  and  it  was  only  when  we  halted  and  a 
soldier  got  down  to  kill  a  great  rattlesnake  near  the 
ambulance,  that  my  thoughts  were  diverted.  The 
man  brought  the  rattles  to  us  and  the  new  toy  served 
to  amuse  my  little  son. 

At  night  we  arrived  at  Desert  Station.  There  was 
a  good  ranch  there,  kept  by  Hunt  and  Dudley, 
Englishmen,  I  believe.  I  did  not  see  them,  but  I 
wondered  who  they  were  and  why  they  staid  in  such 
a  place.  They  were  absent  at  the  time;  perhaps  they 
had  mines  or  something  of  the  sort  to  look  after.  One 
is  always  imagining  things  about  people  who  live  in 
such  extraordinary  places.  At  all  events,  whatever 
Messrs.  Hunt  and  Dudley  were  doing  down  there, 
their  ranch  was  clean  and  attractive,  which  was  more 
than  could  be  said  of  the  place  where  we  stopped  the 
next  night,  a  place  called  Tyson's  Wells.  We  slept  in 
our  tent  that  night,  for  of  all  places  on  the  earth  a 

H5 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

poorly  kept  ranch  in  Arizona  is  the  most  melancholy 
and  uninviting.  It  reeks  of  everything  unclean,  mor- 
ally and  physically.  Owen  Wister  has  described  such 
a  place  in  his  delightful  story,  where  the  young  tender- 
foot dances  for  the  amusement  of  the  old  habitues. 

One  more  day's  travel  across  the  desert  brought  us 
to  our  El  Dorado. 

(146) 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

EHRBNBERG    ON    THE    COIvORADO 

Under  the  burning  mid-day  sun  of  Arizona,  on 
May  i6th,  our  six  good  mules,  with  the  long  whip 
cracking  about  their  ears,  and  the  ambulance  rattling 
merrily  along,  brought  us  into  the  village  of  Ehren- 
berg.  There  was  one  street,  so  called,  which  ran 
along  on  the  river  bank,  and  then  a  few  cross  streets 
straggling  back  into  the  desert,  with  here  and  there 
a  low  adobe  casa.  The  Government  house  stood  not 
far  from  the  river,  and  as  we  drove  up  to  the  entrance 
the  same  blank  white  walls  stared  at  me.  It  did  not 
look  so  much  like  a  prison,  after  all,  I  thought. 
Captain  Bernard,  the  man  whom  I  had  pitied,  stood  at 
the  doorway,  to  greet  us,  and  after  we  were  inside  the 
house  he  had  some  biscuits  and  wine  brought;  and 
then  the  change  of  stations  was  talked  of,  and  he  said 
to  me,  "Now,  please  make  yourself  at  home.  The 
house  is  yours;  my  things  are  virtually  packed  up, 
and  I  leave  in  a  day  or  two.  There  is  a  soldier  here 
who  can  stay  with  you ;  he  has  been  able  to  attend  to 
my  simple  wants.  I  eat  only  twice  a  day;  and  here 
is  Charley,  my  Indian,  who  fetches  the  water  from 
the  river  and  does  the  chores.  I  dine  generally  at 
sundown." 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  sunlight  in  the  doorway; 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

I  looked  around  and  there  stood  ''Charley,"  who  had 
come  in  with  the  noiseless  step  of  the  moccasined 
foot.  I  saw  before  me  a  handsome  naked  Cocopah 
Indian,  who  wore  a  belt  and  a  gee-string.  He  seemed 
to  feel  at  home  and  began  to  help  with  the  bags  and 
various  paraphernalia  of  ambulance  travellers.  He 
looked  to  be  about  twenty-four  years  old.  His  face 
was  smiling  and  friendly  and  I  knew  I  should  like 
him. 

The  house  was  a  one-story  adobe.  It  formed  two 
sides  of  a  hollow  square;  the  other  two  sides  were  a 
high  wall,  and  the  Government  freight-house  re- 
spectively. The  courtyard  was  partly  shaded  by  a 
ramdda  and  partly  open  to  the  hot  sun.  There  was 
a  chicken-yard  in  one  corner  of  the  inclosed  square, 
and  in  the  centre  stood  a  rickety  old  pump,  which 
indicated  some  sort  of  a  well.  Not  a  green  leaf  or 
tree  or  blade  of  grass  in  sight.  Nothing  but  white 
sand,  as  far  as  one  could  see,  in  all  directions. 

Inside  the  house  there  were  bare  white  walls,  ceil- 
ings covered  with  manta,  and  sagging,  as  they  always 
do;  small  windows  set  in  deep  embrasures,  and  adobe 
floors.  Small  and  inconvenient  rooms,  opening  one 
into  another  around  two  sides  of  the  square.  A  sort 
of  low  veranda  protected  by  lattice  screens,  made  from 
a  species  of  slim  cactus,  called  ocotilla,  woven  together, 
and  bound  with  raw-hide,  ran  around  a  part  of  the 
house. 

Our  dinner  was  enlivened  by  some  good  Cocomonga 
148 


EHRENBERG  ON  THE  COLORADO 

wine.  I  tried  to  ascertain  something  about  the  source 
of  provisions,  but  evidently  the  soldier  had  done  the 
foraging,  and  Captain  Bernard  admitted  that  it  was 
difficult,  adding  always  that  he  did  not  require  much, 
''it  was  so  warm,"  et  ccctera,  et  ccetera.  The  next 
morning  I  took  the  reins,  nominally,  but  told  the  sol- 
dier to  go  ahead  and  do  just  as  he  had  always  done. 
I  selected  a  small  room  for  the  baby's  bath,  the  all 
important  function  of  the  day.  The  Indian  brought 
me  a  large  tub  (the  same  sort  of  a  half  of  a  vinegar 
barrel  we  had  used  at  Apache  for  ourselves),  set  it 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  brought  water 
from  a  barrel  which  stood  in  the  corral.  A  low  box 
was  placed  for  me  to  sit  on.  This  was  a  bachelor 
establishment,  and  there  was  no  place  but  the  floor  to 
lay  things  on;  but  what  with  the  splashing  and  the 
leaking  and  the  dripping,  the  floor  turned  to  mud 
and  the  white  clothes  and  towels  were  covered 
with  it,  and  I  myself  was  a  sight  to  behold.  The 
Indian  stood  smiling  at  my  plight.  He  spoke  only 
a  pigeon  English,  but  said,  "too  much-ee  wet." 

I  was  in  despair;  things  began  to  look  hopeless 
again  to  me.  I  thought  ''surely  these  Mexicans  must 
know  how  to  manage  with  these  floors."  Fisher,  the 
steamboat  agent,  came  in,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  could 
not  find  me  a  nurse.  He  said  he  would  try,  and  went 
out  to  see  what  could  be  done. 

He  finally  brought  in  a  rather  forlorn  looking 
Mexican  woman  leading  a  little  child  (whose  father 

149 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

was  not  known),  and  she  said  she  would  come  to  us 
for  quinze  pesos  a  month.  I  consulted  with  Fisher, 
and  he  said  she  was  a  pretty  good  sort,  and  that  we 
could  not  afford  to  be  too  particular  down  in  that 
country.  And  so  she  came;  and  although  she  was 
indolent,  and  forever  smoking  cigarettes,  she  did  care 
for  the  baby,  and  fanned  him  when  he  slept,  and 
proved  a  blessing  to  me. 

And  now  came  the  unpacking  of  our  boxes,  which 
had  floated  down  the  Colorado  Chiquito.  The  fine 
damask,  brought  from  Germany  for  my  linen  chest, 
was  a  mass  of  mildew ;  and  when  the  books  came  to 
light,  I  could  have  wept  to  see  the  pretty  editions  of 
Schiller,  Goethe,  and  Lessing,  which  I  had  bought 
in  Hanover,  fall  out  of  their  bindings;  the  latter, 
warped  out  of  all  shape,  and  some  of  them  unrecog- 
nizable. I  did  the  best  I  could,  however,  not  to  show 
too  much  concern,  and  gathered  the  pages  carefully 
together,  to  dry  them  in  the  sun. 

They  were  my  pride,  my  best  beloved  possessions, 
the  links  that  bound  me  to  the  happy  days  in  old 
Hanover. 

I  went  to  Fisher  for  everything — a  large,  well-built 
American,  and  a  kind  good  man.  Mrs.  Fisher  could 
not  endure  the  life  at  Ehrenberg,  so  she  lived  in  San 
Francisco,  he  told  me.  There  were  several  other  white 
men  in  the  place,  and  two  large  stores  where  every- 
thing was  kept  that  people  in  such  countries  buy. 
These  merchants  made  enormous   profits,   and  their 

150 


PQ 


EHRENBERG  ON  THE  COLORADO 

families  lived  in  luxury  in  San  Francisco. 

The  rest  of  the  population  consisted  of  a  very 
poor  class  of  Mexicans,  Cocopah,  Yuma  and  Mojave 
Indians,  and  half-breeds. 

The  duties  of  the  army  officer  stationed  here  con- 
sisted principally  in  receiving  and  shipping  the  enor- 
mous quantity  of  Government  freight  which  was 
landed  by  the  river  steamers.  It  was  shipped  by 
wagon  trains  across  the  Territory,  and  at  all  times 
the  work  carried  large  responsibilities  with  it. 

I  soon  realized  that  however  much  the  present 
incumbent  might  like  the  situation,  it  was  no  fit  place 
for  a  woman. 

The  station  at  Ehrenberg  was  what  we  call,  in  the 
army,  ^'detached  service."  I  realized  that  we  had 
left  the  army  for  the  time  being;  that  we  had  cut 
loose  from  a  garrison ;  that  we  were  in  a  place  where 
good  food  could  not  be  procured,  and  where  there  were 
practically  no  servants  to  be  had.  That  there  was 
not  a  woman  to  speak  to,  or  to  go  to  for  advice  or 
help,  and,  worst  of  all,  that  there  was  no  doctor  in  the 
place.  Besides  all  this,  my  clothes  were  all  ruined 
by  lying  wet  for  a  fortnight  in  the  boxes,  and  I  had 
practically  nothing  to  wear.  I  did  not  then  know 
what  useless  things  clothes  were  in  Ehrenberg. 

The  situation  appeared  rather  serious;  the  weather 
had  grown  intensely  hot,  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
only  thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  go  to  San  Francisco 
for  the  summer. 

151      ' 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

So  one  day  we  heard  the  whistle  of  the  "Gila" 
going  up;  and  when  she  came  down  river,  I  was  all 
ready  to  go  on  board,  with  Patrocina  and  Jesusita,* 
and  my  own  child,  who  was  yet  but  five  months  old. 
I  bade  farewell  to  the  man  on  detached  service,  and  we 
headed  down  river.  We  seemed  to  go  down  very 
rapidly,  although  the  trip  lasted  several  days.  Patro- 
cina took  to  her  bed  with  neuralgia  (or  nostalgia)  ; 
her  little  devil  of  a  child  screamed  the  entire  days  and 
nights  through,  to  the  utter  discomfiture  of  the  few 
other  passengers.  A  young  lieutenant  and  his  wife 
and  an  army  surgeon,  who  had  come  from  one  of  the 
posts  in  the  interior,  were  among  the  number,  and 
they  seemed  to  think  that  /  could  help  it  (though  they 
did  not  say  so). 

Finally  the  doctor  said  that  if  /  did  not  throw 
Jesusita  overboard,  he  would;  why  didn't  I  ''wring 
the  neck  of  its  worthless  Mexican  of  a  mother?"  and 
so  on,  until  I  really  grew  very  nervous  and  unhappy, 
thinking  what  I  should  do  after  we  got  on  board  the 
ocean  steamer.  I,  a  victim  of  seasickness,  with  this 
unlucky  woman  and  her  child  on  my  hands,  in  addi- 
tion to  my  own !  No ;  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  back 
to  Ehrenberg,  but  I  said  nothing. 

I  did  not  dare  to  let  Doctor  Clark  know  of  my 
decision,  for  I  knew  he  would  try  to  dissuade  me; 


^Diminutive  of  Jesus,  a  very  common  name  ainongst  the 
Mexicans.     Pronounced  Hay-soo-s6-ta. 

152 


EHRENBERG  ON  THE  COLORADO 

but  when  we  reached  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and 
they  began  to  transfer  the  passengers  to  the  ocean 
steamer  which  lay  in  the  offing,  I  quietly  sat  down 
upon  my  trunk  and  told  them  I  was  going  back  to 
Ehrenberg.  Captain  Mellon  grinned ;  the  others  were 
speechless ;  they  tried  persuasion,  but  saw  it  was  use- 
less ;  and  then  they  said  good-bye  to  me,  and  our  stern- 
wheeler  headed  about  and  started  for  up  river. 

Ehrenberg  had  become  truly  my  old  man  of  the 
sea;  I  could  not  get  rid  of  it.  There  I  must  go,  and 
there  I  must  stay,  until  circumstances  and  the  Fates 
were  more  propitious  for  my  departure. 

(153) 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SUMMER   AT   EHRENBERG 

The  week  we  spent  going  up  the  Colorado  in 
June  was  not  as  uncomfortable  as  the  time  spent  on 
the  river  in  August  of  the  previous  year.  Every- 
thing is  relative,  I  discovered,  and  I  was  happy  in 
going  back  to  stay  with  the  First  Lieutenant  of  C 
Company,  and  share  his  fortunes  awhile  longer. 

Patrocina  recovered,  as  soon  as  she  found  we  were 
to  return  to  Ehrenberg.  I  wondered  how  anybody 
could  be  so  homesick  for  such  a  God-forsaken  place. 
I  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  seen  a  tree,  or  green 
grass  (for  I  could  talk  with  her  quite  easily  now). 
She  shook  her  mournful  head.  "But  don't  you  want 
to  see  trees  and  grass  and  flowers?" 

Another  sad  shake  of  the  head  was  the  only  reply. 

Such  people,  such  natures,  and  such  lives,  were 
incomprehensible  to  me  then.  I  could  not  look  at 
things  except  from  my  own  standpoint. 

She  took  her  child  upon  her  knee,  and  lighted  a 
cigarette;  I  took  mine  upon  my  knee,  and  gazed  at 
the  river  banks:  they  were  now  old  friends:  I  had 
gazed  at  them  many  times  before;  how  much  I  had 
experienced,  and  how  much  had  happened  since  I  first 
saw  them!     Could  it  be  that  I  should  ever  come  to 

154 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

love  them,  and  the  pungent  smell  of  the  arrow-weed 
which  covered  them  to  the  water's  edge? 

The  huge  mosquitoes  swarmed  over  us  in  the  nights 
from  those  thick  clumps  of  arrow-weed  and  willow, 
and  the  nets  with  which  Captain  Mellon  provided  us 
did  not  afiford  much  protection. 

The  June  heat  was  bad  enough,  though  not  quite 
so  stifling  as  the  August  heat.  I  was  becoming  accus- 
tomed to  climates,  and  had  learned  to  endure  dis- 
comfort. The  salt  beef  and  the  Chinaman's  peach 
pies  were  no  longer  offensive  to  me.  Indeed,  I  had  a 
good  appetite  for  them,  though  they  were  not  exactly 
the  sort  of  food  prescribed  by  the  modern  doctor,  for 
a  young  mother.  Of  course,  milk,  eggs,  and  all  fresh 
food  were  not  to  be  had  on  the  river  boats.  Ice 
was  still  a  thing  unknown  on  the  Colorado. 

When,  after  a  week,  the  ''Gila"  pushed  her  nose 
up  to  the  bank  at  Ehrenberg,  there  stood  the  Quarter- 
master. He  jumped  aboard,  and  did  not  seem  in  the 
least  surprised  to  see  me.  ''I  knew  you'd  come 
back,"  said  he.  I  laughed,  of  course,  and  we  both 
laughed. 

"I  hadn't  the  courage  to  go  on,"  I  replied. 

''Oh,  well,  we  can  make  things  comfortable  here 
and  get  through  the  summer  some  way,"  he  said. 
"I'll  build  some  rooms  on,  and  a  kitchen,  and  we 
can  surely  get  along.  It's  the  healthiest  place  in  the 
world  for  children,  they  tell  me." 

So  after  a  hearty  handshake  with  Captain  Mellon, 
155 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

who  had  taken  such  good  care  of  me  on  my  week's 
voyage  up  river,  I  being  almost  the  only  passenger, 
I  put  my  foot  once  more  on  the  shores  of  old  Ehr en- 
berg,  and  we  wended  our  way  towards  the  blank 
white  walls  of  the  Government  house.  I  was  glad  to 
be  back,  and  content  to  wait. 

So  work  was  begun  immediately  on  the  kitchen. 
My  first  stipulation  was,  that  the  new  rooms  were  to 
have  wooden  floors;  for,  although  the  Cocopah  Charley 
kept  the  adobe  floors  in  perfect  condition,  by  sprink- 
ling them  down  and  sweeping  them  out  every  morn- 
ing, they  were  quite  impossible,  especially  where  it 
concerned  white  dresses  and  children,  and  the  little 
sharp  rocks  in  them  seemed  to  be  so  tiring  to  the  feet. 

Life  as  we  Americans  live  it  was  difficult  in  Ehren- 
berg.  I  often  said :  *'Oh !  if  we  could  only  live  as  the 
Mexicans  live,  how  easy  it  would  be!"  For  they 
had  their  fire  built  between  some  stones  piled  up  in 
their  yard,  a  piece  of  sheet  iron  laid  over  the  top: 
this  was  the  cooking-stove.  A  pot  of  coffee  was  made 
in  the  morning  early,  and  the  family  sat  on  the  low 
porch  and  drank  it,  and  ate  a  biscuit.  Then  a  kettle 
of  frijoles^  was  put  over  to  boil.  These  were  boiled 
slowly  for  some  hours,  then  lard  and  salt  were  added, 
and  they  simmered  down  until  they  were  deliciously 
fit  to  eat,  and  had  a  thick  red  gravy. 

Then  the  young  matron,  or  daughter  of  the  house, 


^Mexican  brown  bean. 

156 


o 

H 

O 


§ 


00 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

would  mix  the  peculiar  paste  of  flour  and  salt  and 
water,  for  tortillas,  a  species  of  unleavened  bread. 
These  tortillas  were  patted  out  until  they  were  as 
large  as  a  dinner  plate,  and  very  thin;  then  thrown 
onto  the  hot  sheet-iron,  where  they  baked.  Each 
one  of  the  family  then  got  a  tortilla,  the  spoonful  of 
beans  was  laid  upon  it,  and  so  they  managed  without 
the  paraphernalia  of  silver  and  china  and  napery. 

How  I  envied  them  the  simplicity  of  their  lives! 
Besides,  the  tortillas  were  delicious  to  eat,  and  as  for 
the  frijoles,  they  were  beyond  anything  I  had  ever 
eaten  in  the  shape  of  beans.  I  took  lessons  in  the 
making  of  tortillas.  A  woman  was  paid  to  come  and 
teach  me;  but  I  never  mastered  the  art.  It  is  in  the 
blood  of  the  Mexican,  and  a  girl  begins  at  a  very  early 
age  to  make  the  tortilla.  It  is  the  most  graceful  thing 
to  see  a  pretty  Mexican  toss  the  wafer-like  disc  over 
her  bare  arm,  and  pat  it  out  until  transparent. 

This  was  their  supper ;  for,  like  nearly  all  people  in 
the  tropics,  they  ate  only  twice  a  day.  Their  fare 
was  varied  sometimes  by  a  little  carni  seca,  pounded 
up  and  stewed  with  chile  verde  or  chile  Colorado. 

Now  if  you  could  hear  the  soft,  exquisite,  afifection- 
ate  drawl  with  which  the  Mexican  woman  says  chile 
verde  you  could  perhaps  come  to  realize  what  an 
important  part  the  delicious  green  pepper  plays  in 
the  cookery  of  these  countries.  They  do  not  use  it  in 
its  raw  state,  but  generally  roast  it  whole,  stripping  off 
the  thin  skin  and  throwing  away  the  seeds,  leaving 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

only  the  pulp,  which  acquires  a  fine  flavor  by  having 
been  roasted  or  toasted  over  the  hot  coals. 

The  women  were  scrupulously  clean  and  modest, 
and  always  wore,  when  in  their  casa,  a  low-necked 
and  short-sleeved  white  linen  camisa,  fitting  neatly, 
with  bands  around  neck  and  arms.  Over  this  they 
wore  a  calico  skirt ;  always  white  stockings  and  black 
slippers.  When  they  ventured  out,  the  younger 
women  put  on  muslin  gowns,  and  carried  parasols. 
The  older  women  wore  a  linen  towel  thrown  over 
their  heads,  or,  in  cool  weather,  the  black  riboso.  I 
often  cried :  *'Oh !  if  I  could  only  dress  as  the  Mexi- 
cans do !  Their  necks  and  arms  do  look  so  cool 
and  clean." 

I  have  always  been  sorry  I  did  not  adopt  their 
fashion  of  house  apparel.  Instead  of  that,  I  yielded 
to  the  prejudices  of  my  conservative  partner,  and 
sweltered  during  the  day  in  high-necked  and  long- 
sleeved  white  dresses,  kept  up  the  table  in  American 
fashion,  ate  American  food  in  so  far  as  we  could  get 
it,  and  all  at  the  expense  of  strength ;  for  our  soldier 
cooks,  who  were  loaned  us  by  Captain  Ernest  from 
his  company  at  Fort  Yuma,  were  constantly  being 
changed,  and  I  was  often  left  with  the  Indian  and 
the  indolent  Patrocina.  At  those  times,  how  I  wished 
I  had  no  silver,  no  table  linen,  no  china,  and  could 
revert  to  the  primitive  customs  of  my  neighbors! 

There  was  no  market,  but  occasionally  a  Mexican 
killed  a  steer,  and  we  bought  enough  for  one  meal; 

158 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

but  having  no  ice,  and  no  place  away  from  the 
terrific  heat,  the  meat  was  hung  out  under  the  ramdda 
with  a  piece  of  netting  over  it,  until  the  first  heat  had 
passed  out  of  it,  and  then  it  was  cooked. 

The  Mexican,  after  selling  what  meat  he  could,  cut 
the  rest  into  thin  strips  and  hung  it  up  on  ropes  to 
dry  in  the  sun.  It  dried  hard  and  brittle,  in  its 
natural  state,  so  pure  is  the  air  on  that  wonderful 
river  bank.  They  called  this  carni  seca,  and  the 
Americans  called  it  ''jerked  beef." 

Patrocina  often  prepared  me  a  dish  of  this,  when 
I  was  unable  to  taste  the  fresh  meat.  She  would 
pound  it  fine  with  a  heavy  pestle,  and  then  put  it  to 
simmer,  seasoning  it  with  the  green  or  red  pepper.  It 
was  most  savory.  There  was  no  butter  at  all  during 
the  hot  months,  but  our  hens  laid  a  few  eggs,  and  the 
Quartermaster  was  allowed  to  keep  a  small  lot  of 
commissary  stores,  from  which  we  drew  our  supplies 
of  flour,  ham,  and  canned  things.  We  were  often 
without  milk  for  weeks  at  a  time,  for  the  cows  crossed 
the  river  to  graze,  and  sometimes  could  not  get  back 
until  the  river  fell  again,  and  they  could  pick  their 
way  back  across  the  shifting  sand  bars. 

The  Indian  brought  the  water  every  morning  in 
buckets  from  the  river.  It  looked  like  melted  choco- 
late. He  filled  the  barrels,  and  when  it  had  settled 
clear,  the  ollas  were  filled,  and  thus  the  drinking  water 
was  a  trifle  cooler  than  the  air.  One  day  it  seemed 
unusually  cool,  so  I  said:  "Let  us  see  by  the  ther- 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

mometer  how  cool  the  water  really  is/'  We  found 
the  temperature  of  the  water  to  be  86  degrees;  but 
that,  with  the  air  at  122  in  the  shade,  seemed  quite 
refreshing  to  drink. 

I  did  not  see  any  white  people  at  all  except  Fisher, 
Abe  Frank  (the  mail  contractor),  and  one  or  two  of 
the  younger  merchants.  If  I  wanted  anything,  I 
went  to  Fisher.  He  always  could  solve  the  difficulty. 
He  procured  for  me  an  excellent  middle-aged  laun- 
dress, who  came  and  brought  the  linen  herself,  and, 
bowing  to  the  floor,  said  always,  ''Buenos  dias,  Sen- 
oritaT  dwelling  on  the  latter  word,  as  a  gentle 
compliment  to  a  younger  woman,  and  then,  ''Mucho 
calor  este  dia/'  in  her  low,  drawling  voice. 

Like  the  others,  she  was  spotlessly  clean,  modest 
and  gentle.  I  asked  her  what  on  earth  they  did 
about  bathing,  for  I  had  found  the  tub  baths  with 
the  muddy  water  so  disagreeable.  She  told  me  the 
women  bathed  in  the  river  at  daybreak,  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  hke  to  go  with  them. 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  avail  myself  of  her  invita- 
tion, and  so,  like  Pharoah's  daughter  of  old,  I  went 
with  my  gentle  handmaiden  every  morning  to  the 
river  bank,  and,  wading  in  about  knee-deep  in  the 
thick  red  waters,  we  sat  down  and  let  the  swift  cur- 
rent flow  by  us.  We  dared  not  go  deeper;  we  could 
feel  the  round  stones  grinding  against  each  other  as 
they  were  carried  down,  and  we  were  all  afraid.  It 
was  difficult  to  keep  one's  foothold,  and  Capt.  Md- 

160 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

Ion's  words  were  ever  ringing  in  my  ears,  "He  who 
disappears  below  the  surface  of  the  Colorado  is  never 
seen  again."  But  we  joined  hands  and  ventured  like 
children  and  played  like  children  in  these  red  waters 
and  after  all,  it  was  much  nicer  than  a  tub  of  muddy 
water  indoors. 

A  clump  of  low  mesquite  trees  at  the  top  of  the 
bank  afforded  sufficient  protection  at  that  hour;  we 
rubbed  dry,  slipped  on  a  loose  gown,  and  wended  our 
way  home.  What  a  contrast  to  the  limpid,  bracing 
salt  waters  of  my  own  beloved  shores ! 

When  I  thought  of  them,  I  was  seized  with  a 
longing  which  consumed  me  and  made  my  heart  sick ; 
and  I  thought  of  these  poor  people,  who  had  never 
known  anything  in  their  lives  but  those  desert  places, 
and  that  muddy  red  water,  and  wondered  what  they 
would  do,  how  they  would  act,  if  transported  into 
some  beautiful  forest,  or  to  the  cool  bright  shores 
where  clear  blue  waters  invite  to  a  plunge. 

Whenever  the  river-boat  came  up,  we  were  sure  to 
have  guests,  for  many  officers  went  into  the  Territory 
via  Ehrenberg.  Sometimes  the  "transportation"  was 
awaiting  them;  at  other  times,  they  were  obliged  to 
wait  at  Ehrenberg  until  it  arrived.  They  usually 
lived  on  the  boat,  as  we  had  no  extra  rooms,  but  I 
generally  asked  them  to  luncheon  or  supper  (for  any- 
thing that  could  be  called  a  dinner  was  out  of  the 
question). 

This  caused  me  some  anxiety,  as  there  was  nothing 
i6i 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

to  be  had;  but  I  remembered  the  hospitality  I  had 
received,  and  thought  of  what  they  had  been  obliged 
to  eat  on  the  voyage,  and  I  always  asked  them  to 
share  what  we  could  provide,  however  simple  it  might 
be. 

At  such  times  we  heard  all  the  news  from  Wash- 
ington and  the  States,  and  all  about  the  fashions,  and 
they,  in  their  turn,  asked  me  all  sorts  of  questions 
about  Ehrenberg  and  how  I  managed  to  endure  the 
life.  They  were  always  astonished  when  the  Cocopah 
Indian  waited  on  them  at  table,  for  he  wore  nothing 
but  his  gee-string,  and  although  it  was  an  every-day 
matter  to  us,  it  rather  took  their  breath  away. 

But  "Charley"  appealed  to  my  aesthetic  sense  in 
every  way.  Tall,  and  well-made,  with  clean-cut  limbs 
and  features,  fine  smooth  copper-colored  skin,  hand- 
some face,  heavy  black  hair  done  up  in  pompadour 
fashion  and  plastered  with  Colorado  mud,  which  was 
baked  white  by  the  sun,  a  small  feather  at  the  crown 
of  his  head,  wide  turquoise  bead  bracelets  upon  his 
upper  arm,  and  a  knife  at  his  waist — this  was  my 
Charley,  my  half-tame  Cocopah,  my  man  about  the 
place,  my  butler  in  fact,  for  Charley  understood  how 
to  open  a  bottle  of  Cocomonga  gracefully,  and  to  keep 
the  glasses  filled. 

Charley  also  wheeled  the  baby  out  along  the  river 
banks,  for  we  had  had  a  fine  ''perambulator''  sent 
down  from  San  Francisco.  It  was  an  incongruous 
sight,  to  be  sure,  and  one  must  laugh  to  think  of  it. 

162 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

The  Ehrenberg  babies  did  not  have  carriages,  and 
the  village  flocked  to  see  it.  There  sat  the  fair-haired, 
six-months-old  boy,  with  but  one  linen  garment  on,  no 
cap,  no  stockings — and  this  wild  man  of  the  desert, 
his  knife  gleaming  at  his  waist,  and  his  gee-string 
floating  out  behind,  wheeling  and  pushing  the  carriage 
along  the  sandy  roads. 

But  this  came  to  an  end ;  for  one  day  Fisher  rushed 
in,  breathless,  and  said:  "Well!  here  is  your  baby! 
I  was  just  in  time,  for  that  Injun  of  yours  left  the 
carriage  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  to  look  in  at  the 
store  window,  and  a  herd  of  wild  cattle  came  tearing 
down !  I  grabbed  the  carriage  to  the  sidewalk^  cussed 
the  Injun  out,  and  here's  the  child!  It's  no  use,''  he 
added,  "you  can't  trust  those  Injuns  out  of  sight." 

The  heat  was  terrific.  Our  cots  were  placed  in  the 
open  part  of  the  corral  (as  our  courtyard  was  always 
called).  It  was  a  desolate-looking  place;  on  one  side, 
the  high  adobe  wall;  on  another,  the  freight-house; 
and  on  the  other  two,  our  apartments.  Our  kitchen 
and  the  two  other  rooms  were  now  completed.  The 
kitchen  had  no  windows,  only  open  spaces  to  admit  the 
air  and  light,  and  we  were  often  startled  in  the 
night  by  the  noise  of  thieves  in  the  house,  rummaging 
for  food. 

At  such  times,  our  soldier-cook  would  rush  into  the 
corral  with  his  rifle,  the  Lieutenant  would  jump  up 
and  seize  his  shotgun,  which  always  stood  near  by, 

163 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  together  they  would  roam  through  the  house. 
But  the  thieving  Indians  could  jump  out  of  the  win- 
dows as  easily  as  they  jumped  in,  and  the  excitement 
would  soon  be  over. 

The  violent  sand-storms  which  prevail  in  those 
deserts,  sometimes  came  up  in  the  night,  without 
warning;  then  we  rushed  half  suffocated  and  blinded 
into  the  house,  and  as  soon  as  we  had  closed  the 
windows  it  had  passed  on,  leaving  a  deep  layer  of 
sand  on  everything  in  the  room,  and  on  our  perspiring 
bodies. 

Then  came  the  work,  next  day,  for  the  Indian  had 
to  carry  everything  out  of  doors ;  and  one  storm  was 
so  bad  that  he  had  to  use  a  shovel  to  remove  the  sand 
from  the  floors.  The  desert  literally  blew  into  the 
house. 

And  now  we  saw  a  singular  phenomenon.  In  the 
late  afternoon  of  each  day,  a  hot  steam  would  collect 
over  the  face  of  the  river,  then  slowly  rise,  and  float- 
ing over  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  wretched 
hamlet  of  Ehrenberg,  descend  upon  and  envelop  us. 
Thus  we  wilted  and  perspired,  and  had  one  part  of 
the  vapor  bath  without  its  bracing  concomitant  of 
the  cool  shower.  In  a  half  hour  it  was  gone,  but 
always  left  me  prostrate;  then  Jack  gave  me  milk 
punch,  if  milk  was  at  hand,  or  sherry  and  egg,  or 
something  to  bring  me  up  to  normal  again.  We  got 
to  dread  the  steam  so;  it  was  the  climax  of  the  long 
hot  day  and  was  peculiar  to  that  part  of  the  river. 

164 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

The  paraphernalia  by  the  side  of  our  cots  at  night 
consisted  of  a  pitcher  of  cold  tea,  a  lantern,  matches, 
a  revolver,  and  a  shotgun.  Enormous  yellow  cats,  which 
lived  in  and  around  the  freight-house,  darted  to  and 
fro  inside  and  outside  the  house,  along  the  ceiling- 
beams,  emitting  loud  cries,  and  that  alone  was  enough 
to  prevent  sleep.  In  the  old  part  of  the  house,  some 
of  the  partitions  did  not  run  up  to  the  roof,  but  were 
left  open  (for  ventilation,  I  suppose),  thus  making  a 
fine  play-ground  for  cats  and  rats,  which  darted  along, 
squeaking,  meowing  and  clattering  all  the  night 
through.  An  uncanny  feeling  of  insecurity  was  ever 
with  me.  What  with  the  accumulated  effect  of  the 
day's  heat,  what  with  the  thieving  Indians,  the  sand- 
storms and  the  cats,  our  nights  by  no  means  gave  us 
the  refreshment  needed  by  our  worn-out  systems.  By 
the  latter  part  of  the  summer,  I  was  so  exhausted  by 
the  heat  and  the  various  difficulties  of  living,  that  I 
had  become  a  mere  shadow  of  my  former  self. 

Men  and  children  seem  to  thrive  in  those  climates, 
but  it  is  death  to  women,  as  I  had  often  heard. 

It  was  in  the  late  summer  that  the  boat  arrived 
one  day  bringing  a  large  number  of  staff  officers  and 
their  wives,  head  clerks,  and  ''general  service"  men 
for  Fort  Whipple.  They  had  all  been  stationed  in 
Washington  for  a  number  of  years,  having  had  what 
is  known  in  the  army  as  ''gilt-edged"  details.  I  threw 
a  linen  towel  over  my  head,  and  went  to  the  boat 
to  call  on  them,  and,  remembering  my  voyage  from 

165 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

San  Francisco  the  year  before,  prepared  to  sympa- 
thize with  them.  But  they  had  met  their  fate  with 
resignation;  knowing  they  should  find  a  good  chmate 
and  a  pleasant  post  up  in  the  mountains,  and  as  they 
had  no  young  children  with  them,  they  were  disposed 
to  make  merry  over  their  discomforts. 

We  asked  them  to  come  to  our  quarters  for  supper, 
and  to  come  early,  as  any  place  was  cooler  than  the 
boat,  lying  down  there  in  the  melting  sun,  and 
nothing  to  look  upon  but  those  hot  zinc-covered  decks 
or  the  ragged  river  banks,  with  their  uninviting  huts 
scattered  along  the  edge. 

The  surroundings  somehow  did  not  fit  these  people. 
Now  Mrs.  Montgomery  at  Camp  Apache  seemed  to 
have  adapted  herself  to  the  rude  setting  of  a  log 
cabin  in  the  mountains,  but  these  were  Staflf  people 
and  they  had  enjoyed  for  years  the  civilized  side  of 
army  life;  now  they  were  determined  to  rough  it, 
but  they  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 

The  beautiful  wife  of  the  Adjutant-General  was 
mourning  over  some  freckles  which  had  come  to 
adorn  her  dazzling  complexion,  and  she  had  put  on 
a  large  hat  with  a  veil.  Was  there  ever  anything  so 
incongruous  as  a  hat  and  veil  in  Ehrenberg!  For  a 
long  time  I  had  not  seen  a  woman  in  a  hat;  the 
Mexicans  all  wore  a  linen  towel  over  their  heads. 

But  her  beauty  was  startling,  and,  after  all,  I 
thought,  a  woman  so  handsome  must  try  to  live  up 
to  her  reputation. 

i66 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

Now  for  some  weeks  Jack  had  been  investigating 
the  sulphur  well,  which  was  beneath  the  old  pump  in 
our  corral.  He  had  had  a  long  wooden  bath-tub  built, 
and  I  watched  it  with  a  lazy  interest,  and  observed 
his  glee  as  he  found  a  longshoreman  or  roustabout 
who  could  caulk  it.  The  shape  was  exactly  like  a 
coffin  (but  men  have  no  imaginations),  and  when  I 
told  him  how  it  made  me  feel  to  look  at  it,  he  said: 
''Oh !  you  are  always  thinking  of  gloomy  things.  It's 
a  fine  tub,  and  we  are  mighty  lucky  to  find  that 
man  to  caulk  it.  Tm  going  to  set  it  up  in  the  little 
square  room,  and  lead  th^  sulphur  water  into  it,  and 
it  will  be  splendid,  and  just  think,"  he  added,  "what 
it  will  do  for  rheumatism!" 

Now  Jack  had  served  in  the  Twentieth  Massachu- 
setts Volunteers  during  the  Civil  War,  and  the 
swamps  of  the  Chickahominy  had  brought  him  into 
close  acquaintance  with  that  dread  disease. 

As  for  myself,  rheumatism  was  about  the  only  ail- 
ment I  did  not  have  at  that  time,  and  I  suppose  I 
did  not  really  sympathize  with  him.  But  this  ener- 
getic and  indomitable  man  mended  the  pump,  with 
Fisher's  help,  and  led  the  water  into  the  house,  laid  a 
floor,  set  up  the  tub  in  the  little  square  room,  and 
behold,  our  sulphur  bath! 

After  much  persuasion,  I  tried  the  bath.  The  water 
flowed  thick  and  inky  black  into  the  tub;  of  course 
the  odor  was  beyond  description,  and  the  effect  upon 
me  was  not  such  that  I  was  ever  willing  to  try  it  again. 

167 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Jack  beamed,  "How  do  you  like  it,  Martha?"  said 
he.  "Isn't  it  fine?  Why  people  travel  hundreds  of 
miles  to  get  a  bath  like  that!" 

I  had  my  own  opinion,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  dampen 
his  enthusiasm.  Still,  in  order  to  protect  myself  in 
the  future,  I  had  to  tell  him  I  thought  I  should 
ordinarily  prefer  the  river. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there  are  those  who  will  be 
thankful  to  have  a  bath  in  that  water;  /  am  going  to 
use  it  every  day." 

I  remonstrated :  "How  do  you  know  what  is  in  that 
inky  water — and  how  do  you  dare  to  use  it?" 

"Oh,  Fisher  says  it's  all  right;  people  here  used 
to  drink  it  years  ago,  but  they  have  not  done  so 
lately,  because  the  pump  was  broken  down." 

The  Washington  people  seemed  glad  to  pay  us  the 
visit.  Jack's  eyes  danced  with  true  generosity  and 
glee.  He  marked  his  victim ;  and,  selecting  the  Staff 
beauty  and  the  Paymaster's  wife,  he  expatiated  on 
the  wonderful  properties  of  his  sulphur  bath. 

"Why,  yes,  the  sooner  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin. "I'd  give  everything  I  have  in  this  world,  and 
all  my  chances  for  the  next,  to  get  a  tub  bath!" 

"It  will  be  so  refreshing  just  before  supper,"  said 
Mrs.  Maynadier,  who  was  more  conservative. 

So  the  Indian,  who  had  put  on  his  dark  blue  waist- 
band (or  sash),  made  from  flannel,  ravelled  out  and 
twisted  into  strands  of  yarn,  and  which  showed  the 
supple  muscles  of  his  clean-cut  thighs,  and  who  had 

i68 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

done  up  an  extra  high  pompadour  in  white  clay,  and 
burnished  his  knife,  which  gleamed  at  his  waist, 
ushered  these  Washington  women  into  a  small  apart- 
ment adjoining  the  bath-room,  and  turned  on  the 
inky  stream  into  the  sarcophagus. 

The  Staff  beauty  looked  at  the  black  pool,  and 
shuddered.     "Do  you  use  it?"  said  she. 

"Occasionally,"  I  equivocated. 

"Does  it  hurt  the  complexion?"  she  ventured. 

"Jack  thinks  it  excellent  for  that,"  I  replied. 

And  then  I  left  them,  directing  Charley  to  wait,  and 
prepare  the  bath  for  the  second  victim. 

By  and  by  the  beauty  came  out.  "Where  is  your 
mirror?"  cried  she  (for  our  appointments  were 
primitive,  and  mirrors  did  not  grow  on  bushes  at 
Ehrenberg)  ;  "I  fancy  I  look  queer,"  she  added,  and, 
in  truth,  she  did;  for  our  water  of  the  Styx  did  not 
seem  to  affiliate  with  the  chemical  properties  of  the 
numerous  cosmetics  used  by  her,  more  or  less,  all  her 
life,  but  especially  on  the  voyage,  and  her  face  had 
taken  on  a  queer  color,  with  peculiar  spots  here  and 
there. 

Fortunately  my  mirrors  were  neither  large  nor  true, 
and  she  never  really  saw  how  she  looked,  but  when 
she  came  back  into  the  living-room,  she  laughed 
and  said  to  Jack:  "What  kind  of  water  did  you  say 
that  was?     I  never  saw  any  just  like  it." 

"Oh!  you  have  probably  never  been  much  to  the 

169 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

sulphur  springs,"  said  he,  with  his  most  superior  and 
crushing  manner. 

'Terhaps  not,"  she  repHed,  "but  I  thought  I 
knew  something  about  it ;  why,  my  entire  body  turned 
such  a  queer  color." 

"Oh!  it  always  does  that,"  said  this  optimistic 
soldier  man,  "and  that  shows  it  is  doing  good." 

The  Paymaster's  wife  joined  us  later.  I  think  she 
had  profited  by  the  beauty's  experience,  for  she  said 
but  little. 

The  Quartermaster  was  happy;  and  what  if  his 
wife  did  not  believe  in  that  uncanny  stream  which 
flowed  somewhere  from  out  the  infernal  regions,  un- 
derlying that  wretched  hamlet,  he  had  succeeded  in 
being  a  benefactor  to  two  travellers  at  least ! 

We  had  a  merry  supper:  cold  ham,  chicken,  and 
fresh  biscuit,  a  plenty  of  good  Cocomonga  wine,  sweet 
milk,  which  to  be  sure  turned  to  curds  as  it  stood  on 
the  table,  some  sort  of  preserves  from  a  tin,  and 
good  coffee.  I  gave  them  the  best  to  be  had  in  the 
desert — and  at  all  events  it  was  a  change  from  the 
chinaman's  salt  beef  and  peach  pies,  and  they  saw 
fresh  table  linen  and  shining  silver,  and  accepted  our 
simple  hospitality  in  the  spirit  in  which  we  gave  it. 

Alice  Martin  was  much  amused  over  Charley;  and 
Charley  could  do  nothing  but  gaze  on  her  lovely 
features.  "Why  on  earth  don't  you  put  some  clothes 
on  him?"  laughed  she,  in  her  delightful  way. 

I  explained   to  her   that  the    Indian's    fashion   of 

170 


O 


SUMMER  AT  EHRENBERG 

wearing  white  men's  clothes  was  not  pleasing  to  the 
eye,  and  told  her  that  she  must  cultivate  her  aesthetic 
sense,  and  in  a  short  time  she  would  be  able  to  admire 
these  copper-colored  creatures  of  Nature  as  much  as 
I  did. 

But  I  fear  that  a  life  spent  mostly  in  a  large  city 
had  cast  fetters  around  her  imagination,  and  that 
the  life  at  Fort  Whipple  afterwards  savored  too 
much  of  civilization  to  loosen  the  bonds  of  her  soul. 
I  saw  her  many  times  again,  but  she  never  recovered 
from  her  amazement  at  Charley's  lack  of  apparel,  and 
she  never  forgot  the  sulphur  bath. 

(171) 


CHAPTER  XX 

MY  DI^r^IVERER 

Onk  day,  in  the  early  autumn,  as  the  ^'Gila" 
touched  at  Ehrenberg,  on  her  way  down  river,  Cap- 
tain Mellon  called  Jack  on  to  the  boat,  and,  pointing 
to  a  young  woman,  who  was  about  to  go  ashore,  said : 
''Now,  there's  a  girl  I  think  will  do  for  your  wife. 
She  imagines  she  has  bronchial  troubles,  and  some 
doctor  has  ordered  her  to  Tucson.  She  comes  from 
up  North  somewhere.  Her  money  has  given  out,  and 
she  thinks  I  am  going  to  leave  her  here.  Of  course, 
you  know  I  would  not  do  that;  I  can  take  her  on 
down  to  Yuma,  but  I  thought  your  wife  might  like 
to  have  her,  so  I've  told  her  she  could  not  travel  on 
this  boat  any  farther  without  she  could  pay  her  fare. 
Speak  to  her:  she  looks  to  me  like  a  nice  sort  of  a 
girl." 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  woman  had  gone  ashore 
and  was  sitting  upon  her  trunk,  gazing  hopelessly 
about.  Jack  approached,  offered  her  a  home  and 
good  wages,  and  brought  her  to  me. 

I  could  have  hugged  her  for  very  joy,  but  I  re- 
strained myself  and  advised  her  to  stay  with  us  for 
awhile,  saying  the  Ehrenberg  climate  was  quite  as 
good  as  that  of  Tucson. 

172 


MY  DELIVERER 

She  remarked  quietly:  ''You  do  not  look  as  if  it 
agreed  with  you  very  well,  ma'am." 

Then  I  told  her  of  my  young  child,  and  my  hard 
journeys,  and  she  decided  to  stay  until  she  could  earn 
enough  to  reach  Tucson. 

And  so  Ellen  became  a  member  of  our  Ehrenberg 
family.  She  was  a  fine,  strong  girl,  and  a  very  good 
cook,  and  seemed  to  be  in  perfect  health.  She  said, 
however,  that  she  had  had  an  obstinate  cough  which 
nothing  would  reach,  and  that  was  why  she  came  to 
Arizona.  From  that  time,  things  went  more  smoothly. 
Some  yeast  was  procured  from  the  Mexican  bake- 
shop,  and  Ellen  baked  bread  and  other  things,  which 
seemed  like  the  greatest  luxuries  to  us.  We  sent 
the  soldier  back  to  his  company  at  Fort  Yuma,  and 
began  to  live  with  a  degree  of  comfort. 

I  looked  at  Ellen  as  my  deliverer,  and  regarded  her 
coming  as  a  special  providence,  the  kind  I  had  heard 
about  all  my  life  in  New  England,  but  had  never 
much  believed  in. 

After  a  few  weeks,  Ellen  was  one  evening  seized 
with  a  dreadful  toothache,  which  grew  so  severe  that 
she  declared  she  could  not  endure  it  another  hour: 
she  must  have  the  tooth  out.  ''Was  there  a  dentist  in 
the  place?" 

I  looked  at  Jack:  he  looked  at  me:  Ellen  groaned 
with  pain. 

"Why,  yes !    of  course  there  is,"  said  this  man  for 

"^71 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

emergencies;    ''Fisher  takes  out  teeth,  he  told  me  so 
the  other  day." 

Now  I  did  not  beHeve  that  Fisher  knew  any  more 
about  extracting  teeth  than  I  did  myself,  but  I 
breathed  a  prayer  to  the  Recording  Angel,  and  said 
naught. 

"ril  go  get  Fisher,''  said  Jack. 

Now  Fisher  was  the  steamboat  agent.  He  stood 
six  feet  in  his  stockings,  had  a  powerful  physique 
and  a  determined  eye.  Men  in  those  countries  had 
to  be  determined;  for  if  they  once  lost  their  nerve, 
Heaven  save  them.    Fisher  had  handsome  black  eyes. 

When  they  came  in,  I  said:  ''Can  you  attend  to 
this  business,  Mr.  Fisher?" 

"I  think  so,"  he  replied,  quietly.  "The  Quarter- 
master says  he  has  some  forceps." 

I  gasped.  Jack,  who  had  left  the  room,  now  ap- 
peared, a  box  of  instruments  in  his  hand,  his  eyes 
shining  with  joy  and  triumph. 

Fisher  took  the  box,  and  scanned  it.  "I  guess 
they'll  do,"  said  he. 

So  we  placed  Ellen  in  a  chair,  a  stiff  barrack  chair, 
with  a  raw-hide  seat,  and  no  arms. 

It  was  evening. 

"Mattie,  you  must  hold  the  candle,"  said  Jack. 
"I'll  hold  Ellen,  and,  Fisher,  you  pull  the  tooth." 

So  I  lighted  the  candle,  and  held  it,  while  Ellen 
tried,  by  its  flickering  light,  to  show  Fisher  the  tooth 
that  ached. 

174 


MY  DELIVERER 

Fisher  looked  again  at  the  box  of  instruments. 
"Why,"  said  he,  "these  are  lower  jaw  rollers,  the 
kind  used  a  hundred  years  ago;  and  her  tooth  is  an 
upper  jaw." 

"Never  mind,"  answered  the  I^ieutenant,  "the  in- 
struments are  all  right.  Fisher,  you  can  get  the  tooth 
out,  that's  all  you  want,  isn't  it?" 

The  Lieutenant  was  impatient;  and  besides  he  did 
not  wish  any  slur  cast  upon  his  precious  instruments. 

So  Fisher  took  up  the  forceps,  and  clattered  around 
amongst  Ellen's  sound  white  teeth.  His  hand  shook, 
great  beads  of  perspiration  gathered  on  his  face,  and 
I  perceived  a  very  strong  odor  of  Cocomonga  wine. 
He  had  evidently  braced  for  the  occasion. 

It  was,  however,  too  late  to  protest.  He  fastened 
onto  a  molar,  and  with  the  lion's  strength  which  lay 
in  his  gigantic  frame,  he  wrenched  it  out. 

Ellen  put  up  her  hand  and  felt  the  place.  "My 
God!  you've  pulled  the  wrong  tooth!"  cried  she,  and 
so  he  had. 

I  seized  a  jug  of  red  wine  which  stood  near  by,  and 
poured  out  a  gobletful,  which  she  drank.  The  blood 
came  freely  from  her  mouth,  and  I  feared  something 
dreadful  had  happened. 

Fisher  declared  she  had  shown  him  the  wrong 
tooth,  and  was  perfectly  willing  to  try  again.  I  could 
not  witness  the  second  attempt,  so  I  put  the  candle 
down  and  fled. 

The   stout-hearted   and  confiding  girl  allowed  the 

175 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

second  trial,  and  between  the  steamboat  agent,  the 
Lieutenant,  and  the  red  wine,  the  aching  molar  was 
finally  extracted. 

This  was  a  serious  and  painful  occurrence.  It  did 
not  cause  any  of  us  to  laugh,  at  the  time.  I  am  sure 
that  Ellen,  at  least,  never  saw  the  comical  side  of  it. 

When  it  was  all  over,  I  thanked  Fisher,  and  Jack 
beamed  upon  me  with:  "You  see,  Mattie,  my  case  of 
instruments  did  come  in  handy,  after  all." 

Encouraged  by  success,  he  applied  for  a  pannier  of 
medicines,  and  the  Ehrenberg  citizens  soon  regarded 
him  as  a  healer.  At  a  certain  hour  in  the  morning, 
the  sick  ones  came  to  his  office,  and  he  dispensed 
simple  drugs  to  them  and  was  enabled  to  do  much 
good.  He  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  intuitive  knowl- 
edge about  medicines  and  performed  some  miraculous 
cures,  but  acquired  little  or  no  facility  in  the  use  of 
the  language. 

I  was  often  called  in  as  interpreter,  and  with  the 
help  of  the  sign  language,  and  the  little  I  knew  of 
Spanish,  we  managed  to  get  an  idea  of  the  ailments  of 
these  poor  people. 

And  so  our  life  flowed  on  in  that  desolate  spot,  by 
the  banks  of  the  Great  Colorado. 

I  rarely  went  outside  the  enclosure,  except  for  my 
bath  in  the  river  at  daylight,  or  for  some  urgent 
matter.  The  one  street  along  the  river  was  hot  and 
sandy  and  neglected.  One  had  not  only  to  wade 
through  the  sand,  but  to  step  over  the  dried  heads 

-^76 


J  J    »      '  ' » 


P       pa 
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Mmm        ^ 


I 


MY  DELIVERER 

or  horns  or  bones  of  animals  left  there  to  whiten 
where  they  died,  or  thrown  out,  possibly,  when  some 
one  killed  a  sheep  or  beef.  Nothing  decayed  there, 
but  dried  and  baked  hard  in  that  wonderful  air  and 
sun. 

Then,  the  groups  of  Indains,  squaws  and  half- 
breeds  loafing  around  the  village  and  the  store !  One 
never  felt  sure  what  one  was  to  meet,  and  although 
by  this  time  I  tolerated  about  everything  that  I  had 
been  taught  to  think  wicked  or  immoral,  still,  in 
Ehrenberg,  the  limit  was  reached,  in  the  sights  I  saw 
on  the  village  streets,  too  bold  and  too  rude  to  be 
described  in  these  pages. 

The  few  white  men  there  led  respectable  lives 
enough  for  that  country.  The  standard  was  not  high, 
and  when  I  thought  of  the  dreary  years  they  had 
already  spent  there  without  their  families,  and  the 
years  they  must  look  forward  to  remaining  there,  I 
was  willing  to  reserve  my  judgement. 

(177) 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WINTER  IN  EHRENBERG 

We  asked  my  sister,  Mrs.  Penniman,  to  come  out 
and  spend  the  winter  with  us,  and  to  bring  her  son, 
who  was  in  most  delicate  health.  It  was  said  that  the 
climate  of  Ehrenberg  would  have  a  magical  effect 
upon  all  diseases  of  the  lungs  or  throat.  So,  to  save 
her  boy,  my  sister  made  the  long  and  arduous  trip 
out  from  New  England,  arriving  in  Ehrenberg  in 
October. 

What  a  joy  to  see  her,  and  to  initiate  her  into  the 
ways  of  our  life  in  Arizona!  Everything  was  new, 
everything  was  a  wonder  to  her  and  to  my  nephew. 
At  first,  he  seemed  to  gain  perceptibly,  and  we  had 
great  hopes  of  his  recovery. 

It  was  now  cool  enough  to  sleep  indoors,  and  we  be- 
gan to  know  what  it  was  to  have  a  good  night's  rest. 

But  no  sooner  had  we  gotten  one  part  of  our  life 
comfortably  arranged,  before  another  part  seemed  to 
fall  out  of  adjustment.  Accidents  and  climatic  con- 
ditions kept  my  mind  in  a  perpetual  state  of  unrest. 

Our  dining-room  door  opened  through  two  small 
rooms  into  the  kitchen,  and  one  day,  as  I  sat  at  the 
table,  waiting  for  Jack  to  come  in  to  supper,  I  heard 
a  strange  sort  of  crashing  noise.  Looking  towards 
the  kitchen,  through  the  vista  of  open  dporw^y-*^,  I 


WINTER  IN  EHRENBERG 

saw  Ellen  rush  to  the  door  which  led  to  the  courtyard. 
She  turned  a  livid  white,  threw  up  her  hands,  and 
cried,  "Great  God !  the  Captain  !"  She  was  transfixed 
with  horror. 

I  jflew  to  the  door,  and  saw  that  the  pump  had 
collapsed  and  gone  down  into  the  deep  sulphur  well. 
In  a  second.  Jack's  head  and  hands  appeared  at  the 
edge;  he  seemed  to  be  caught  in  the  debris  of  rotten 
timber.  Before  I  could  get  to  him,  he  had  scrambled 
half  way  out.  "Don't  come  near  this  place,"  he  cried, 
"it's  all  caving  in!" 

And  so  it  seemed ;  for,  as  he  worked  himself  up  and 
out,  the  entire  structure  feel  in,  and  half  the  corral 
with  it,  as  it  looked  to  me. 

Jack  escaped  what  might  have  been  an  unlucky  bath 
in  his  sulphur  well,  and  we  all  recovered  our  com- 
posure as  best  we  could. 

Surely,  if  life  was  dull  at  Ehrenberg,  it  could  not 
be  called  exactly  monotonous.  We  were  not  obliged 
to  seek  our  excitement  outside;  we  had  plenty  of  it, 
such  as  it  was,  within  our  walls. 

My  confidence  in  Ehrenberg,  however,  as  a  salu- 
brious dwelling-place,  was  being  gradually  and  liter- 
ally undermined.  I  began  to  be  distrustful  of  the  very 
ground  beneath  my  feet.  Ellen  felt  the  same  way, 
evidently,  although  we  did  not  talk  much  about  it. 
She  probably  longed  also  for  some  of  her  own  kind; 
and  when,  one  morning,  we  went  into  the  dining-room 
for  breakfast,  Ellen  stood,  hat  on,  bag  in  hand,  at  th^ 

179 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

door.  Dreading  to  meet  my  chagrin,  she  said :  ''Good- 
bye, Captain ;  good-bye,  missis,  you've  been  very  kind 
to  me.  Fm  leaving  on  the  stage  for  Tucson — where 
I  first  started  for,  you  know." 

And  she  tripped  out  and  climbed  up  into  the  dusty, 
rickety  vehicle  called  "the  stage."  I  had  felt  so 
safe  about  Ellen,  as  I  did  not  know  that  any  stage  line 
ran  through  the  place. 

And  now  I  was  in  a  fine  plight!  I  took  a  sun- 
shade, and  ran  over  to  Fisher's  house.  ''Mr.  Fisher, 
what  shall  I  do?    Ellen  has  gone  to  Tucson !" 

Fisher  bethought  himself,  and  we  went  out  together 
in  the  village.  Not  a  woman  to  be  found  who  would 
come  to  cook  for  us !  There  was  only  one  thing  to  do. 
The  Quartermaster  was  allowed  a  soldier,  to  assist  in 
the  Government  work.  I  asked  him  if  he  understood 
cooking ;  he  said  he  had  never  done  any,  but  he  would 
try,  if  I  would  show  him  how. 

This  proved  a  hopeless  task,  and  I  finally  gave  it  up. 
Jack  dispatched  an  Indian  runner  to  Fort  Yuma, 
ninety  miles  or  more  down  river,  begging  Captain 
Ernest  to  send  us  a  soldier-cook  on  the  next  boat. 

This  was  a  long  time  to  wait;  the  inconveniences 
were  intolerable:  there  were  our  four  selves,  Patro- 
cina  and  Jesusita,  the  soldier-clerk  and  the  Indian,  to 
be  provided  for:  Patrocina  prepared  carni  seca  with 
peppers,  a  little  boy  came  around  with  cuajada,  a 
delicious  sweet  curd  cheese,  and  I  tried  my  hand  at 
bread,  following  out  Ellen's  instructions. 

i8o 


WINTER  IN  EHRENBERG 

How  often  I  said  to  my  husband.  ''If  we  must  live 
in  this  wretched  place,  let's  give  up  civilization  and 
live  as  the  Mexicans  do!  They  are  the  only  happy 
beings  around  here. 

''Look  at  them,  as  you  pass  along  the  street!  At 
nearly  any  hour  in  the  day  you  can  see  them,  sitting 
under  their  ramada,  their  backs  propped  against  the 
wall  of  their  casa,  calmly  smoking  cigarettes  and 
gazing  at  nothing,  with  a  look  of  ineffable  contentment 
upon  their  features !  They  surely  have  solved  the 
problem  of  Hfe!'' 

But  we  seemed  never  to  be  able  to  free  ourselves 
from  the  fetters  of  civilization,  and  so  I  struggled  on. 

One  evening  after  dusk,  I  went  into  the  kitchen, 
opened  the  kitchen  closet  door  to  take  out  some 
dish,  when  clatter!  bang!  down  fell  the  bread-pan, 
and  a  shower  of  other  tin  ware,  and  before  I  could 
fairly  get  my  breath,  out  jumped  two  young  squaws 
and  without  deigning  to  glance  at  me  they  darted 
across  the  kitchen  and  leaped  out  the  window  like 
two  frightened  fawn. 

They  had  on  nothing  but  their  birthday  clothes 
and  as  I  was  somewhat  startled  at  the  sight  of  them, 
I  stood  transfixed,  my  eyes  gazing  at  the  open  space 
through  which  they  had  flownc 

Charley,  the  Indian,  was  in  the  corral,  filling  the 
ollaSj  and,  hearing  the  commotion,  came  in  and  saw 
just  the   disappearing  heels  of  the  two   squaws. 

I  said,  very  sternly:  "Charley,  how  came  those 
i8i 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

squaws  in  my  closet?"  He  looked  very  much  ashamed 
and  said:  ''Oh,  me  tell  you:  bad  man  go  to  kill 
'em;  I  hide  'em." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "do  not  hide  any  more  girls  in 
this   casa!     You   savez  that?" 

He  bowed  his  head  in  asquiescence. 

I  afterwards  learned  that  one  of  the  girls  was 
his  sister. 

The  weather  was  now  fairly  comfortable,  and  in 
the  evenings  we  sat  under  the  ramada,  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  watched  the  beautiful  pink  glow  which 
spread  over  the  entire  heavens  and  illuminated  the 
distant  mountains  of  Lower  California.  I  have  never 
seen  anything  like  that  wonderful  color,  which  spread 
itself  over  sky,  river  and  desert.  For  an  hour,  one 
could  have  believed  oneself  in  a  magician's  realm. 

At  about  this  time,  the  sad-eyed  Patrocina  found  it 
expedient  to  withdraw  into  the  green  valleys  of  Lower 
California,  to  recuperate  for  a  few  months.  With 
the  impish  Jesusita  in  her  arms,  she  bade  me  a 
mournful  good-bye.  Worthless  as  she  was  from  the 
standpoint  of  civilized  morals,  I  was  attached  to  her 
and  felt  sorry  to  part  with  her. 

Then  I  took  a  Mexican  woman  from  Chihuahua. 
Now  the  Chihuahuans  hold  their  heads  high,  and  it 
was  rather  with  awe  that  I  greeted  the  tall  middle- 
aged  Chihuahuan  lady  who  came  to  be  our  little  son's 
nurse.  Her  name  was  Angela.  "Angel  of  light,"  I 
thought,  how  fortunate  I  am  to  get  her! 

182 


WINTER  IN  EHRENBERG  • 

After  a  few  weeks,  Fisher  observed  that  the  whole 
village  was  eating  Ferris  ham,  an  unusual  delicacy 
in  Ehrenberg,  and  that  the  Goldwaters'  had  sold 
none.  So  he  suggested  that  our  commissary  store- 
house be  looked  to;  and  it  was  found  that  a  dozen 
hams  or  so  had  been  withdrawn  from  their  canvas 
covers,  the  covers  stuffed  with  straw,  and  hung  back 
in  place.  Verily  the  Chihuahuan  was  adding  to  her 
pin-money  in  a  most  unworthy  fashion,  and  she  had 
to  go.  After  that,  I  was  left  without  a  nurse.  My 
little  son  was  now  about  nine  months  old. 

Milk  began  to  be  more  plentiful  at  this  season,  and, 
with  my  sister's  advice  and  help,  I  decided  to  make 
the  one  great  change  in  a  baby's  life — i.e.,  to  take  him 
from  his  mother.  Modern  methods  were  unknown 
then,  and  we  had  neither  of  us  any  experience  in 
these  matters  and  there  was  no  doctor  in  the  place. 

The  result  was,  that  both  the  baby  and  myself 
were  painfully  and  desparately  ill  and  not  knowing 
which  way  to  turn  for  aid,  when,  by  a  lucky  turn  of 
Fortune's  wheel,  our  good,  dear  Doctor  Henry 
Lippincott  came  through  Ehrenberg  on  his  way  out 
to  the  States.  Once  more  he  took  care  of  us,  and 
it  is  to  him  that  I  believe  I  owe  my  life. 

Captain  Ernest  sent  us  a  cook  from  Yuma,  and 
soon  some  officers  came  for  the  duck-shooting.  There 
were  thousands  of  ducks  around  the  various  lagoons 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  sport  was  rare.  We  had 
all  the  ducks  we  co^M  eat  . 

183 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Then  came  an  earthquake,  which  tore  and  rent  the 
baked  earth  apart.  The  ground  shivered,  the  windows 
rattled,  the  birds  fell  close  to  the  ground  and  could 
not  fly,  the  stove-pipes  fell  to  the  floor,  the  thick  walls 
cracked  and  finally,  the  earth  rocked  to  and  fro  like 
some  huge  thing  trying  to  get  its  balance. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon.  My  sister  and  I  were  sit- 
ting with  our  needle- work  in  the  living-room.  Little 
Harry  was  on  the  floor,  occupied  with  some  toys.  I 
was  paralyzed  with  fear ;  my  sister  did  not  move.  We 
sat  gazing  at  each  other,  scarce  daring  to  breathe, 
expecting  every  instant  the  heavy  walls  to  crumble 
about  our  heads.  The  earth  rocked  and  rocked,  and 
rocked  again,  then  swayed  and  swayed  and  finally  was 
still.  My  sister  caught  Harry  in  her  arms,  and  then 
Jack  and  Willie  came  breathlessly  in.  "Did  you  feel 
it?"  said  Jack. 

"Did  we  feel  it !"  said  I,  scornfully. 

Sarah  was  silent,  and  I  looked  so  reproachfully  at 
Jack,  that  he  dropped  his  light  tone,  and  said:  "It 
was  pretty  awful.  We  were  in  the  Goldwaters'  store, 
when  suddenly  it  grew  dark  and  the  lamps  above 
our  heads  began  to  rattle  and  swing,  and  we  all 
rushed  out  into  the  middle  of  the  street  and  stood, 
rather  dazed,  for  we  scarcely  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened; then  we  hurried  home.  But  it's  all  over 
now." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  I ;  "we  shall  have  more" ; 
and,  in  fact,  we  did  have  two  light  shocks  in  the 

184 


WINTER  IN  EHRENBERG 

night,  but  no  more  followed,  and  the  next  morning, 
we  recovered,  in  a  measure,  from  our  fright  and  went 
out  to  see  the  great  fissures  in  that  treacherous  crust 
of  earth  upon  which  Ehrenberg  was  built. 

I  grew  afraid,  after  that,  and  the  idea  that  the 
earth  would  eventually  open  and  engulf  us  all  took 
possession  of  my  mind. 

My  health,  already  weakened  by  shocks  and  severe 
strains,  gave  way  entirely.  I,  who  had  gloried  in 
the  most  perfect  health,  and  had  a  constitution  of  iron, 
became  an  emaciated  invalid. 

From  my  window,  one  evening  at  sundown,  I  saw  a 
weird  procession  moving  slowly  along  towards  the 
outskirts  of  the  village.  It  must  be  a  funeral,  thought 
I,  and  it  flashed  across  my  mind  that  I  had  never 
seen  the  burying-ground. 

A  man  with  a  rude  cross  led  the  procession.  Then 
came  some  Mexicans  with  violins  and  guitars.  After 
the  musicians,  came  the  body  of  the  deceased,  wrapped 
in  a  white  cloth,  borne  on  a  bier  by  friends,  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  little  band  of  weeping  women,  with 
black  ribosos  folded  about  their  heads.  They  did  not 
use  coffins  at  Ehrenberg,  because  they  had  none,  I 
suppose. 

The  next  day  I  asked  Jack  to  walk  to  the  grave-yard 
with  me.  He  postponed  it  from  day  to  day,  but  I  in- 
sisted upon  going.     At  last,  he  took  me  to   see  it. 

There  was  no  enclosure,  but  the  bare,  sloping,  sandy 
place  was  sprinkled  with  graves,  marked  by  heaps  of 

I8S 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

stones,  and  in  some  instances  by  rude  crosses  of  wood, 
some  of  which  had  been  wrenched  from  their  upright 
position  by  the  fierce  sand-storms.  There  was  not  a 
blade  of  grass,  a  tree,  or  a  flower.  I  walked  about 
among  these  graves,  and  close  beside  some  of  them  I 
saw  deep  holes  and  whitnened  bones.  I  was  quite 
ignorant  or  unthinking,  and  asked  what  the  holes 
were. 

''It  is  where  the  coyotes  and  wolves  come  in  the 
nights,"  said  Jack. 

My  heart  sickened  as  I  thought  of  these  horrors, 
and  I  wondered  if  Ehrenberg  held  anything  in  store 
for  me  worse  than  what  I  had  already  seen.  We 
turned  away  from  this  unhallowed  grave-yard  and 
walked  to  our  quarters.  I  had  never  known  much 
about  ''nerves,"  but  I  began  to  see  spectres  in  the 
night,  and  those  ghastly  graves  with  their  coyote-holes 
were  ever  before  me.  The  place  was  but  a  stone's 
throw  from  us,  and  the  uneasy  spirits  from  these 
desecrated  graves  began  to  haunt  me.  I  could  not  sit 
alone  on  the  porch  at  night,  for  they  peered 
through  the  lattice,  and  mocked  at  me,  and  beckoned. 
Some  had  no  heads,  some  no  arms,  but  they  pointed 
or  nodded  towards  the  grewsome  burying-ground : 
"You'll  be  with  us  soon,  you'll  be  with  us  soon." 

(186) 


CHAPTER  XXII 

RETURN  TO  THE  STATES 

I  dream  of  the  east  wind^s  tonic, 
Of   the   breakers'   stormy   roar, 

And  the  peace  of  the  inner  harbor 
With  the  long  low  Shimmo  shore. 
*  *  *  *  * 

I  long  for  the  buoy-belPs  tolling 

When  the  north  wind  brings  from  afar 

The    smooth,    green,    shining   billows. 
To   be   churned  into   foam   on  the   bar. 

Oh!    for   the    sea-gulls'    screaming 
As  they  swoop  so  bold  and  free! 

Oh!     for   the   fragrant    commons, 
And  the   glorious   open   sea! — 

For  the  restful  great  contentment. 
For  the  joy  that  is  never  known 

Till  past  the  jetty  and  Brant  Point  Light 
The  Islander  comes  to  his  own! 

—MARY   E.    STARBUCK. 

"I  MUST  send  you  out.  I  see  that  you  cannot  stand 
it  here  another  month,"  said  Jack  one  day;  and  so 
he  bundled  us  onto  the  boat  in  the  early  spring,  and 
took  us  down  the  river  to  meet  the  ocean  steamer. 

There  was  no  question  about  it  this  time,  and  I  well 
knew  it. 

I  left  my  sister  and  her  son  in  Ehrenberg,  and  I 
never  saw  my  nephew  again.    A  month  later,  his  state 

187 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

of  health  became  so  alarming  that  my  sister  took  him 
to  San  Francisco.  He  survived  the  long  voyage,  but 
died  there  a  few  weeks  later  at  the  home  of  my  cousin. 

At  Fort  Yuma  we  telegraphed  all  over  the  country 
for  a  nurse,  but  no  money  would  tempt  those  Mexican 
women  to  face  an  ocean  voyage.  Jack  put  me  on 
board  the  old  *'Newbern''  in  charge  of  the  Captain, 
waited  to  see  our  vessel  under  way,  then  waved  good- 
bye from  the  deck  of  the  ''Gila,"  and  turned  his  face 
towards  his  post  and  duty.  I  met  the  situation  as 
best  I  could,  and  as  I  have  already  described  a  voyage 
on  this  old  craft,  I  shall  not  again  enter  into  details. 
There  was  no  stewardess  on  board,  and  all  arrange- 
ments were  of  the  crudest  description.  Both  my  child 
and  I  were  seasick  all  the  way,  and  the  voyage  lasted 
sixteen  days.     Our  misery  was  very  great. 

The  passengers  were  few  in  number,  only  a  couple 
of  Mexican  miners  who  had  been  prospecting,  an 
irritable  old  Mexican  woman,  and  a  German  doctor, 
who  was  agreeable  but  elusive. 

The  old  Mexican  woman  sat  on  the  deck  all  day, 
with  her  back  against  the  stateroom  door;  she  was  a 
picturesque  and  indolent  figure. 

There  was  no  diversion,  no  variety;  my  little  boy 
required  constant  care  and  watching.  The  days 
seemed  endless.  Everbody  bought  great  bunches  of 
green  bananas  at  the  ports  in  Mexico,  where  we  stop- 
ped for  passengers. 

The  old  woman  was  irritable,  and  one  day  when 
i88 


RETURN  TO  THE  STATES 

she  saw  the  agreeable  German  doctor  pulHng  bananas 
from  the  bunch  which  she  had  hung  in  the  sun  to 
ripen,  she  got  up  muttering  ''Carramba/'  and  shaking 
her  fist  in  his  face.  He  appeased  her  wrath  by  offer- 
ing her,  in  the  most  fluent  Spanish,  some  from  his 
own  bunch  when  they  should  be  ripe. 

Such  were  my  surroundings  on  the  old  "Newbern.'' 
The  German  doctor  was  interesting,  and  I  loved  to  talk 
with  him,  on  days  when  I  was  not  seasick,  and  to 
read  the  letters  which  he  had  received  from  his 
family,  who  were  living  on  their  Rittergut  (or  landed 
estates)  in  Prussia. 

He  amused  me  by  tales  of  his  life  at  a  wretched 
little  mining  village  somewhere  about  fifty  miles  from 
Ehrenberg,  and  I  was  always  wondering  how  he  came 
to  have  lived  there. 

He  had  the  keenest  sense  of  humor,  and  as  I  listened 
to  the  tales  of  his  adventures  and  miraculous  escapes 
from  death  at  the  hands  of  these  desperate  folk,  I 
looked  in  his  large  laughing  blue  eyes  and  tried  to 
solve  the  mystery. 

For  that  he  was  of  noble  birth  and  of  ancient 
family  there  was  no  doubt.  There  were  the  letters, 
there  was  the  crest,  and  here  was  the  offshoot  of  the 
family.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  he  was  a  ne'er-do- 
weel  and  a  rolling  stone.  He  was  elusive,  and,  beyond 
his  adventures,  told  me  nothing  of  himself.  It  was 
some  time  after  my  arrival  in  San  Francisco  that  I 
learned  more  about  him. 

189 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Now,  after  we  rounded  Cape  St.  Lucas,  we  were 
caught  in  the  long  heavy  swell  of  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
and  it  was  only  at  intervals  that  my  little  boy  and  I 
could  leave  our  stateroom.  The  doctor  often  held 
him  while  I  ran  below  to  get  something  to  eat, 
and  I  can  never  forget  his  kindness;  and  if,  as  I 
afterward  heard  in  San  Francisco,  he  really  had 
entered  the  ''Gate  of  a  hundred  sorrows,"  it  would 
perhaps  best  explain  his  elusiveness,  his  general  con- 
dition, and  his  sometimes  dazed  expression. 

A  gentle  and  kindly  spirit,  met  by  chance,  known 
through  the  propinquity  of  a  sixteen  days'  voyage, 
and  never  forgotten. 

Everything  comes  to  an  end,  however  interminable 
it  may  seem,  and  at  last  the  sharp  and  jagged  outlines 
of  the  coast  began  to  grow  softer  and  we  approached 
the  Golden  Gate. 

The  old  ''Newbern,"  with  nothing  in  her  but  bal- 
last, rolled  and  lurched  along,  through  the  bright 
green  waters  of  the  outer  bar.  I  stood  leaning 
against  the  great  mast,  steadying  myself  as  best  I 
could,  and  the  tears  rolled  down  my  face ;  for  I  saw 
the  friendly  green  hills,  and  before  me  lay  the  glorious 
bay  of  San  Francisco.  I  had  left  behind  me  the  des- 
erts, the  black  rocks,  the  burning  sun,  the  snakes,  the 
scorpions,  the  centipedes,  the  Indians  and  the  Ehren- 
berg  graveyard;  and  so  the  tears  flowed,  and  I  did 
not  try  to  v3top  them;  they  were  tears  of  joy. 

I9Q 


RETURN  TO  THE  STATES 

The  custom  officers  wanted  to  confiscate  the  great 
bundles  of  Mexican  cigarettes  they  found  in  my  trunk, 
but  ''No/'  I  told  them,  ''they  were  for  my  own  use.'' 
They  raised  their  eyebrows,  gave  me  one  look,  and 
put  them  back  into  the  trunk. 

My  beloved  California  relatives  met  us,  and  took 
care  of  us  for  a  fortnight,  and  when  I  entered  a  Pull- 
man car  for  a  nine  days'  journey  to  my  old  home,  it 
seemed  like  the  most  luxurious  comfort,  although  I 
had  a  fourteen-months-old  child  in  my  arms,  and 
no  nurse.  So  does  everything  in  this  life  go  by  com- 
parison. 

Arriving  in  Boston,  my  sister  Harriet  met  me  at 
the  train,  and  as  she  took  little  Harry  from  my  arms 
she  cried :  "Where  did  you  get  that  sunbonnet  ?  Now 
the  baby  can't  wear  that  in  Boston !" 

Of  course  we  were  both  thinking  hard  of  all  that 
had  happened  to  me  since  we  parted,  on  the  morning 
after  my  wedding,  two  years  before,  and  we  were  so 
overcome  with  the  joy  of  meeting,  diat  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  baby's  white  sunbonnet,  I  do  not  know 
what  kind  of  a  scene  we  might  have  made.  That 
saved  the  situation,  and  after  a  few  days  of  rest  and 
necessary  shopping,  we  started  for  our  old  home  in 
Nantucket.  Such  a  welcome  as  the  baby  and  I  had 
from  my  mother  and  father  and  all  old  friends ! 

But  I  saw  sadness  in  their  faces,  and  I  heard  it  in 
their  voices,  for  no  one  thought  I  could  possibly  live. 
I  felt,  however,  sure  it  was  not  too  late,     I  knew  the 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

East  wind's  tonic  would  not  fail  me,  its  own  child. 

Stories  of  our  experiences  and  misfortunes  were 
eagerly  listened  to,  by  the  family,  and  betwixt  sighs 
and  laughter  they  declared  they  were  going  to  fill 
some  boxes  which  should  contain  everything  necessary 
for  comfort  in  those  distant  places.  So  one  room  in 
our  old  house  was  set  apart  for  this ;  great  boxes  were 
brought,  and  day  by  day  various  articles,  useful,  orna- 
mental, and  comfortable,  and  precious  heirlooms  of 
silver  and  glass,  were  packed  away  in  them.  It  was 
the  year  of  1876,  the  year  of  the  great  Centennial,  at 
Philadelphia.  Everybody  went,  but  it  had  no  attrac- 
tions for  me.  I  was  happy  enough,  enjoying  the 
health-giving  air  and  the  comforts  of  an  Eastern 
home.  I  wondered  that  I  had  ever  complained  about 
anything  there,  or  wished  to  leave  that  blissful  spot. 

The  poorest  person  in  that  place  by  the  sea  had 
more  to  be  thankful  for,  in  my  opinion,  than  the 
richest  people  in  Arizona.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  cry 
it  out  from  the  house-tops.  My  heart  was  thankful 
every  minute  of  the  day  and  night,  for  every  breath 
of  soft  air  that  I  breathed,  for  every  bit  of  fresh  fish 
that  I  ate,  for  fresh  vegetables,  and  for  butter — for 
gardens,  for  trees,  for  flowers,  for  the  good  firm  earth 
beneath  my  feet.  I  wrote  the  man  on  detached  service 
that  I  should  never  return  to  Ehrenberg. 

After  eight  months,  in  which  my  health  was  wholly 
restored,  I  heard  the  good  news  that  Captain  Corliss 

192 


RETURN  TO  THE  STATES 

had  applied  for  his  first  Heutenant,  and  I  decided  to 
join  him  at  once  at  Camp  MacDowell. 

Although  I  had  not  wholly  forgotten  that  Camp 
MacDowell  had  been  called  by  very  bad  names  dur- 
ing our  stay  at  Fort  Whipple,  at  the  time  that  Jack  de- 
cided on  the  Ehrenberg  detail,  I  determined  to  brave  it, 
in  all  its  unattractiveness,  isolation  and  heat,  for  I 
knew  there  was  a  garrison  and  a  Doctor  there,  and 
a  few  officers'  families,  I  knew  supplies  were  to  be 
obtained  and  the  ordinary  comforts  of  a  far-off  post. 
Then  too,  in  my  summer  in  the  East  I  had  discovered 
that  I  was  really  a  soldier's  wife  and  I  must  go  back 
to  it  all.  To  the  army  with  its  glitter  and  its  misery, 
to  the  post  with  its  discomforts,  to  the  soldiers,  to  the 
drills,  to  the  bugle-calls,  to  the  monotony,  to  the  heat 
of  Southern  Arizona,  to  the  uniform  and  the  stalwart 
Captains  and  gay  Lieutenants  who  wore  it,  I  felt  the 
call  and  I  must  go. 

(193) 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BACK  TO  ARIZONA 

The  I.AST  nails  were  driven  in  the  precious  boxes, 
and  I  started  overland  in  November  with  my  little  son, 
now  nearly  two  years  old. 

"Overland"  in  those  days  meant  nine  days  from 
New  York  to  San  Francisco.  Arriving  in  Chicago,  I 
found  it  impossible  to  secure  a  section  on  the  Pull- 
man car  so  was  obliged  to  content  myself  with  a  lower 
berth.    I  did  not  allow  myself  to  be  disappointed. 

On  entering  the  section,  I  saw  an  enormous  pair  of 
queer  cow  hide  shoes,  the  very  queerest  shoes  I  had 
ever  seen,  lying  on  the  floor,  with  a  much  used  travel- 
ling bag.  I  speculated  a  good  deal  on  the  shoes,  but 
did  not  see  the  owner  of  them  until  several  hours  later, 
when  a  short  thick-set  German  with  sandy  close-cut 
beard  entered  and  saluted  me  politely.  "You  are  notic- 
ing my  shoes  perhaps  Madame?" 

"Yes"  I  said,  involuntarily  answering  him  in  German. 

His  face  shone  with  pleasure  and  he  explained  to 
me  that  they  were  made  in  Russia  and  he  always 
wore  them  when  travelling.  "What  have  we,"  I 
thought,  "an  anarchist?" 

But  with  the  inexperience  and  fearlessness  of  youth, 
I  entered  into  a  most  delightful  conversation  in  Ger- 
man with  him.    I  found  him  rather  an  extraordinarily 


194 


BACK  TO  ARIZONA 

well  educated  gentleman  and  he  said  he  lived  in 
Nevada,  but  had  been  over  to  Vienna  to  place  his  little 
boy  at  a  military  school,  **as,''  he  said,  ''there  is  no- 
thing like  a  uniform  to  give  a  boy  self-respect."  He 
said  his  wife  had  died  several  months  before.  I  con- 
gratulated myself  that  the  occupant  of  the  upper  berth 
was  at  least  a  gentleman. 

The  next  day,  as  we  sat  opposite  each  other  chatting, 
always  in  German,  he  paused,  and  fixing  his  eyes 
rather  steadily  upon  me  he  remarked:  ''Do  you  think 
I  put  on  mourning  when  my  wife  died?  no  indeed,  I 
put  on  white  kid  gloves  and  had  a  fiddler  and  danced 
at  the  grave.  All  this  mourning  that  people  have  is 
utter  nonsense." 

I  was  amazed  at  the  turn  his  conversation  had  taken 
and  sat  quite  still,  not  knowing  just  what  to  say  or 
to  do. 

After  awhile,  he  looked  at  me  steadily,  and  said, 
very  deferentially,  "Madame,  the  spirit  of  my  dead 
wife  is  looking  at  me  from  out  your  eyes." 

By  this  time  I  realized  that  the  man  was  a  maniac, 
and  I  had  always  heard  that  one  must  agree  with 
crazy  people,  so  I  nodded,  and  that  seemed  to  satisfy 
him,  and  bye  and  bye  after  some  minutes  which 
seemed  like  hours  to  me,  he  went  off  to  the  smoking 
room. 

The  tension  was  broken  and  I  appealed  to  a  very 
nice  looking  woman  who  happened  to  be  going  to  some 
place  in  Nevada  near  which  this  Doctor  lived,  and 

195 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

she  said,  when  I  told  her  his  name,  ''Why,  yes,  I  heard 
of  him  before  I  left  home,  he  lives  in  Silver  City,  and 
at  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  went  hopelessly  insane, 
but,"  she  added,  ''he  is  harmless,  I  believe." 

This  was  a  nice  fix,  to  be  sure,  and  I  staid  over  in 
her  section  all  day,  and  late  that  night  the  Doctor 
arrived  at  the  junction  where  he  was  to  take  another 
train.  So  I  slept  in  peace,  after  a  considerable  agita- 
tion. 

There  is  nothing  like  experience  to  teach  a  young 
woman  how  to  travel  alone. 

In  San  Francisco  I  learned  that  I  could  now  go 
as  far  as  Los  Angeles  by  rail,  thence  by  steamer  to  San 
Diego,  and  so  on  by  stage  to  Fort  Yuma,  where  my 
husband  was  to  meet  me  with  an  ambulance  and  a 
wagon. 

I  was  enchanted  with  the  idea  of  avoiding  the  long 
sea-trip  down  the  Pacific  coast,  but  sent  my  boxes 
down  by  the  Steamer  "Montana,"  sister  ship  of  the 
old  "Newbern,"  and  after  a  few  days'  rest  in  San 
Francisco,  set  forth  by  rail  for  Los  Angeles.  At  San 
Pedro,  the  port  of  Los  Angeles,  we  embarked  for 
San  Diego.  It  was  a  heavenly  night.  I  sat  on  deck 
enjoying  the  calm  sea,  and  listening  to  the  romantic 
story  of  Lieutenant  Philip  Reade,  then  stationed  at 
San  Diego.  He  was  telling  the  story  himself,  and  I 
had  never  read  or  heard  of  anything  so  mysterious 
or  so  tragic. 

Then,  too,  aside  from  the  story,  Mr.  Reade  was  a 
196 


BACK  TO  ARIZONA 

very  good-looking  and  chivalrous  young  army  officer. 
He  was  returning  to  his  station  in  San  Diego,  and  we 
had  this  pleasant  opportunity  to  renew  what  had  been 
a  very  slight  acquaintance. 

The  calm  waters  of  the  Pacific,  with  their  long  and 
gentle  swell,  the  pale  light  of  the  full  moon,  our 
steamer  gliding  so  quietly  along,  the  soft  air  of  the 
California  coast,  the  absence  of  noisy  travellers,  these 
made  a  fit  setting  for  the  story  of  his  early  love  and 
marriage,  and  the  tragic  mystery  which  surrounded 
the  death  of  his  young  bride. 

All  the  romance  which  lived  and  will  ever  live  in 
me  was  awake  to  the  story,  and  the  hours  passed  all 
too  quickly. 

But  a  cry  from  my  little  boy  in  the  near-by  deck 
stateroom  recalled  me  to  the  realities  of  life  and  I 
said  good-night,  having  spent  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful evenings  I  ever  remember. 

Mr.  Reade  wears  now  a  star  on  his  shoulder,  and 
well  earned  it  is,  too.  I  wonder  if  he  has  forgotten 
how  he  helped  to  bind  up  my  little  boy's  finger  which 
had  been  broken  in  an  accident  on  the  train  from  San 
Francisco  to  Los  Angeles?  or  how  he  procured  a 
surgeon  for  me  on  our  arrival  there,  and  got  a  com- 
fortable room  for  us  at  the  hotel?  or  how  he  took  us 
to  drive  (with  an  older  lady  for  a  chaperon),  or  how 
he  kindly  cared  for  us  until  we  were  safely  on  the 
boat  that  evening?  If  I  had  ever  thought  chivalry 
dead,  I  learned  then  that  I  had  been  mistaken. 

197 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

San  Diego  charmed  me,  as  we  steamed,  the  next 
morning,  into  its  shining  bay.  But  as  our  boat  was 
two  hours  late  and  the  stage-coach  was  waiting,  I  had 
to  decHne  Mr.  Reade's  enchanting  offers  to  drive  us 
around  the  beautiful  place,  to  show  me  the  fine 
beaches,  and  his  quarters,  and  all  other  points  of  in- 
terest in  this  old  town  of  Southern  California. 

Arizona,  not  San  Diego,  was  my  destination,  so  we 
took  a  hasty  breakfast  at  the  hotel  and  boarded  the 
stage,  which,  filled  with  passengers,  was  waiting  before 
the    door. 

The  driver  waited  for  no  ceremonies,  muttered  some- 
thing about  being  late,  cracked  his  whip,  and  away 
we  went.  I  tried  to  stow  myself  and  my  little  boy 
and  my  belongings  away  comfortably,  but  the  road 
was  rough  and  the  coach  swayed,  and  I  gave  it  up. 
There  were  passengers  on  top  of  the  coach,  and  passen- 
gers inside  the  coach.  One  woman  who  was  totally 
deaf,  and  some  miners  and  blacksmiths,  and  a  few 
other  men,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  Western 
countries,  who  come  from  no  one  knoweth  whence,  and 
who  go,  no  one  knoweth  whither,  who  have  no  trade 
or  profession  and  are  sometimes  even  without  a  name. 

They  seemed  to  want  to  be  kind  to  me.  Harry 
got  very  stage-sick  and  gave  us  much  trouble,  and 
they  all  helped  me  to  hold  him.  Night  came.  I  do 
not  remember  that  we  made  any  stops  at  all;  if  we 
did,  I  have  forgotten  them.  The  night  on  that  stage- 
coach can  be  better  imagined  than  described.     I  do 

198 


BACK    TO    ARIZONA 

not  know  of  any  adjectives  that  I  could  apply  to  it. 

Just  before  dawn,  we  stopped  to  change  horses  and 
driver,  and  as  the  day  began  to  break,  we  felt  our- 
selves going  down  somewhere  at  a  terrific  speed. 

The  great  Concord  coach  slipped  and  slid  and 
swayed  on  its  huge  springs  as  we  rounded  the  curves. 

The  road  was  narrow  and  appeared  to  be  cut  out  of 
solid  rock,  which  seemed  to  be  as  smooth  as  soapstone ; 
the  four  horses  were  put  to  their  speed,  and  down 
and  around  and  away  we  went.  I  drew  in  my  breath 
as  I  looked  out  and  over  into  the  abyss  on  my  left. 
Death  and  destruction  seemed  to  be  the  end  awaiting 
us  all.  Everybody  was  limp,  when  we  reached  the 
bottom — that  is,  I  was  limp,  and  I  suppose  the  others 
were.  The  stage-driver  knew  I  was  frightened,  be- 
cause I  sat  still  and  looked  white  and  he  came  and 
lifted  me  out.  He  lived  in  a  small  cabin  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mountain;  I  talked  with  him  some. 
"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "we  are  an  hour  late  this 
morning;  we  always  make  it  a  point  to  'do  it'  before 
dawn,  so  the  passengers  can't  see  anything;  they  are 
almost  sure  to  get  stampeded  if  we  come  down  by 
daylight.'' 

I  mentioned  this  road  afterwards  in  San  Francisco, 
and  learned  that  it  was  a  famous  road,  cut  out  of  the 
side  of  a  solid  mountain  of  rock ;  long  talked  of,  long 
desired,  and  finally  built,  at  great  expense,  by  the 
state  and  the  county  together;  that  they  always  had 
the  same  man  to  drive  over  it,  and  that  they  never  did 

199 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

it  by  daylight.  I  did  not  inquire  if  there  had  ever 
been  any  accidents.  I  seemed  to  have  learned  all  I 
wanted  to  know  about  it. 

After  a  little  rest  and  a  breakfast  at  a  sort  of  road- 
house,  a  relay  of  horses  was  taken,  and  we  travelled 
one  more  day  over  a  flat  country,  to  the  end  of  the 
stage-route.  Jack  was  to  meet  me.  Already  from 
the  stage  I  had  espied  the  post  ambulance  and  two 
blue  uniforms.  Out  jumped  Major  Ernest  and  Jack. 
I  remember  thinking  how  straight  and  how  well  they 
looked.  I  had  forgotten  really  how  army  men  did 
look,  I  had  been  so  long  away. 

And  now  we  were  to  go  to  Fort  Yuma  and  stay 
with  the  Wells'  until  my  boxes,  which  had  been 
sent  around  by  water  on  the  steamer  ''Montana," 
should  arrive.  I  had  only  the  usual  thirty  pounds 
allowance  of  luggage  with  me  on  the  stage,  and  it  was 
made  up  entirely  of  my  boy's  clothing,  and  an  evening 
dress  I  had  worn  on  the  last  night  of  my  stay  in  San 
Francisco. 

Fort  Yuma  was  delightful  at  this  season  (Decem- 
ber), and  after  four  or  five  days  spent  most  enjoyably, 
we  crossed  over  one  morning  on  the  old  rope  ferry- 
boat to  Yuma  City,  to  inquire  at  the  big  country  store 
there  of  news  from  the  Gulf.  There  was  no  bridge 
then  over  the  Colorado. 

The  merchant  called  Jack  to  one  side  and  said  some- 
thing to  him  in  a  low  tone.  I  was  sure  it  concerned 
the  steamer,  and  I  said:  "what  it  is?" 

200 


BACK  TO  ARIZONA 

Then  they  told  me  that  news  had  just  been  received 
from  below,  that  the  ^'Montana"  had  been  burned 
to  the  water's  edge  in  Guaymas  harbor,  and  every- 
thing on  board  destroyed;  the  passengers  had  been 
saved  with  much  difficulty,  as  the  disaster  occurred 
in  the  night. 

I  had  lost  all  the  clothes  I  had  in  the  world — and 
my  precious  boxes  were  gone.  I  scarcely  knew  how 
to  meet  the  calamity. 

Jack  said:  "Don't  mind,  Mattie;  Fm  so  thankful 
you  and  the  boy  were  not  on  board  the  ship ;  the  things 
are  nothing,  no  account  at  all." 

''But,"  said  I,  ''you  do  not  understand.  I  have  no 
clothes  except  what  I  have  on,  and  a  party  dress.  Oh ! 
what  shall  I  do  ?"  I  cried. 

The  merchant  was  very  sympathetic  and  kind,  and 
Major  Wells  said,  "Let's  go  home  and  tell  Fanny; 
maybe  she  can  suggest  something." 

I  turned  toward  the  counter,  and  bought  some  sew- 
ing materials,  realizing  that  outside  of  my  toilet 
articles  and  my  party  dress  all  my  personal  belong- 
ings were  swept  away.  I  was  in  a  country  where 
there  were  no  dressmakers,  and  no  shops ;  I  was,  for 
the  time  being,  a  pauper,  as  far  as  clothing  was 
concerned. 

When  I  got  back  to  Mrs.  Wells  I  broke  down 
entirely ;  she  put  her  arms  around  me  and  said :  "I've 
heard  all  about  it;  I  know  just  how  you  must  feel; 

20I 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

now  come  in  my  room,  and  we'll  see  what  can  be 
done." 

She  laid  out  enough  clothing  to  last  me  until  I 
could  get  some  things  from  the  East,  and  gave  me  a 
grey  and  white  percale  dress  with  a  basque,  and  a 
border,  and  although  it  was  all  very  much  too  large 
for  me,  it  sufficed  to  relieve  my  immediate  distress. 

Letters  were  dispatched  to  the  East,  in  various 
directions,  for  every  sort  and  description  of  clothing, 
but  it  was  at  least  two  months  before  any  of  it  ap- 
peared, and  I  felt  like  an  object  of  charity  for  a  long 
time.  Then,  too,  I  had  anticipated  the  fitting  up  of 
our  quarters  with  all  the  pretty  cretonnes  and  other 
things  I  had  brought  from  home.  And  now  the 
contents  of  those  boxes  were  no  more !  The  memory 
of  the  visit  was  all  that  was  left  to  me.  It  was  very 
hard  to  bear. 

Preparations  for  our  journey  to  Camp  MacDowell 
were  at  last  completed.  The  route  to  our  new  post 
lay  along  the  valley  of  the  Gila  River,  following  it  up 
from  its  mouth,  where  it  empties  into  the  Colorado, 
eastwards  towards  the  southern  middle  portion  of 
Arizona. 

(202) 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

UP   THE  VAI,I,EY  OF  THE)   GlIvA 

The  December  sun  was  shining  brightly  down,  as 
only  the  Arizona  sun  can  shine  at  high  noon  in  winter, 
when  we  crossed  the  Colorado  on  the  primitive  ferry- 
boat drawn  by  ropes,  clambered  up  into  the  great 
thorough-brace  wagon  (or  ambulance)  with  its  dusty 
white  canvas  covers  all  rolled  up  at  the  sides,  said 
good-bye  to  our  kind  hosts  of  Fort  Yuma,  and  started, 
rattling  along  the  sandy  main  street  of  Yuma  City, 
for  old  Camp  MacDowell. 

Our  big  blue  army  wagon,  which  had  been  provided 
for  my  boxes  and  trunks,  rumbling  along  behind  us, 
empty  except  for  the  camp  equipage. 

But  it  all  seemed  so  good  to  me:  I  was  happy  to 
see  the  soldiers  again,  the  drivers  and  teamsters,  and 
even  the  sleek  Government  mules.  The  old  blue 
uniforms  made  my  heart  glad.  Every  sound  was 
familiar,  even  the  rattling  of  the  harness  with  its 
ivory  rings  and  the  harsh  sound  of  the  heavy  brakes 
reinforced  with  old  leather  soles. 

Even  the  country  looked  attractive,  smiling  under 
the  December  sun.  I  wondered  if  I  had  really  grown 
to  love  the  desert.  I  had  read  somewhere  that  people 
did.  But  I  was  not  paying  much  attention  in  those 
days  to  the  analysis  of  my  feelings.    I  did  not  stop  to 

203 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

question  the  subtle  fascination  which  I  felt  steal  over 
me  as  we  rolled  along  the  smooth  hard  roads  that 
followed  the  windings  of  the  Gila  River.  I  was  back 
again  in  the  army;  I  had  cast  my  lot  with  a  soldier, 
and  where  he  was,  was  home  to  me. 

In  Nantucket,  no  one  thought  much  about  the  army. 
The  uniform  of  the  regulars  was  never  seen  there. 
The  profession  of  arms  was  scarcely  known  or  heard 
of.  Few  people  manifested  any  interest  in  the  life 
of  the  Far  West.  I  had,  while  there,  felt  out  of 
touch  with  my  oldest  friends.  Only  my  darling  old 
uncle,  a  brave  old  whaling  captain,  had  said:  "Mattie, 
I  am  much  interested  in  all  you  have  written  us  about 
Arizona;  come  right  down  below  and  show  me  on 
the  dining-room  map  just  where  you  went." 

Gladly  I  followed  him  down  the  stairs,  and  he  took 
his  pencil  out  and  began  to  trace.  After  he  had 
crossed  the  Mississippi,  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any- 
thing but  blank  country,  and  I  could  not  find  Arizona, 
and  it  was  written  in  large  letters  across  the  entire 
half  of  this  antique  map,  ''Unexplored." 

"True  enough,"  he  laughed.  "I  must  buy  me  a 
new  map." 

But  he  drew  his  pencil  around  Cape  Horn  and  up 
the  Pacific  coast,  and  I  described  to  him  the  voyages 
I  had  made  on  the  old  "Newbern,"  and  his  face  was 
aglow  with  memories. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "in  1826,  we  put  into  San  Fran- 
cisco harbor  and  sent  our  boats  up  to  San  Jose  for 

204 


UP  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GILA 

water  and  we  took  goats  from  some  of  those  islands, 
too.  Oh!  I  know  the  coast  well  enough.  We  were 
on  our  way  to  the  Ar'tic  Ocean  then,  after  right 
whales.'' 

But,  as  a  rule,  people  there  seemed  to  have  little 
interest  in  the  army  and  it  had  made  me  feel  as  one 
apart. 

Gila  City  was  our  first  camp;  not  exactly  a  city,  to 
be  sure,  at  that  time,  whatever  it  may  be  now.  We 
were  greeted  by  the  sight  of  a  few  old  adobe  houses, 
and  the  usual  saloon.  I  had  ceased,  however,  to  dwell 
upon  such  trifles  as  names.  Even  ''Filibuster,''  the 
name  of  our  next  camp,  elicited  no  remark  from  me. 

The  weather  was  fine  beyond  description.  Each 
day,  at  noon,  we  got  out  of  the  ambulance,  and  sat 
down  on  the  warm  white  sand,  by  a  little  clump  of 
mesquite,  and  ate  our  luncheon.  Coveys  of  quail 
flew  up  and  we  shot  them,  thereby  insuring  a  good 
supper. 

The  mules  trotted  along  contentedly  on  the  smooth 
white  road,  which  followed  the  south  bank  of  the 
Gila  River.  Myriads  of  lizards  ran  out  and  looked  at 
us.      ''Hello,  here  you  are  again,"  they  seemed  to  say. 

The  Gila  Valley  in  December  was  quite  a  different 
thing  from  the  Mojave  desert  in  September;  and 
although  there  was  not  much  to  see,  in  that  low,  flat 
country,  yet  we  three  were  joyous  and  happy. 

Good  health  again  was  mine,  the  travelling  was 
205 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

ideal,  there  were  no  discomforts,  and  I  experienced 
no  terrors  in  this  part  of  Arizona. 

Each  morning,  when  the  tent  was  struck,  and  I 
sat  on  the  camp-stool  by  the  little  heap  of  ashes, 
which  was  all  that  remained  of  what  had  been  so 
pleasant  a  home  for  an  afternoon  and  a  night,  a 
little  lonesome  feeling  crept  over  me,  at  the  thought  of 
leaving  the  place.  So  strong  is  the  instinct  and  love 
of  home  in  some  people,  that  the  little  tendrils  shoot 
out  in  a  day  and  weave  themselves  around  a  spot 
which  has  given  them  shelter.  Such  as  those  are 
not  born  to  be  nomads. 

Camps  were  made  at  Stanwix,  Oatman's  Flat,  and 
Gila  Bend.  There  we  left  the  river,  which  makes  a 
mighty  loop  at  this  point,  and  struck  across  the  plains 
to  Maricopa  Wells.  The  last  day's  march  took  us 
across  the  Gila  River,  over  the  Maricopa  desert,  and 
brought  us  to  the  Salt  River.  We  forded  it  at  sun- 
down, rested  our  animals  a  half  hour  or  so,  and 
drove  through  the  MacDowell  canon  in  the  dark  of 
the  evening,  nine  miles  more  to  the  post.  A  day's 
march  of  forty-five  miles.  (A  relay  of  mules  had 
been  sent  to  meet  us  at  the  Salt  River,  but  by  some 
oversight,  we  had  missed  it.) 

Jack  had  told  me  of  the  curious  cholla  cactus,  which 
is  said  to  nod  at  the  approach  of  human  beings,  and 
to  deposit  its  barbed  needles  at  their  feet.  Also  I 
had  heard  stories  of  this  deep,  dark  canon  and  things 
that  had  happened  there. 

206 


o  »       •»  •    •  •) 

J    '  •*    »  1  a    >     i 


Suwarro,  Giant  Cactus.     Near  Camp  MacDowell,  Arizona,  1877. 


f  *  *•  ,«  « 


UP  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GILA 

Fort  MacDowell  was  in  Maricopa  County,  Arizona, 
on  the  Verde  River,  seventy  miles  or  so  south  of 
Camp  Verde;  the  roving  bands  of  Indians,  escaping 
from  Camp  Apache  and  the  San  Carlos  reservation, 
which  lay  far  to  the  east  and  southeast,  often  found 
secure  hiding  places  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Super- 
stition Mountains  and  other  ranges,  which  lay  between 
old  Camp  MacDowell  and  these  reservations. 

Hence,  a  company  of  cavalry  and  one  of  infantry 
were  stationed  at  Camp  MacDowell,  and  the  officers 
and  men  of  this  small  command  were  kept  busy, 
scouting,  and  driving  the  renegades  from  out  of  this 
part  of  the  country  back  to  their  reservations.  It 
was  by  no  means  an  idle  post,  as  I  found  after  I  got 
there ;  the  life  at  Camp  MacDowell  meant  hard  work, 
exposure  and  fatigue  for  this  small  body  of  men. 

As  we  wound  our  way  through  this  deep,  dark 
canon,  after  crossing  the  Salt  River,  I  remembered 
the  things  I  had  heard,  of  ambush  and  murder.  Our 
animals  were  too  tired  to  go  out  of  a  walk,  the  night 
fell  in  black  shadows  down  between  those  high 
mountain  walls,  the  chollas,  which  are  a  pale  sage- 
green  color  in  the  day-time,  took  on  a  ghastly  hue. 
They  were  dotted  here  and  there  along  the  road,  and 
on  the  steep  mountain-sides.  They  grew  nearly  as 
tall  as  a  man,  and  on  each  branch  were  great  excres- 
cences which  looked  like  people's  heads,  in  the  vague 
light  which  fell  upon  them. 

207 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

They  nodded  to  us,  and  it  made  me  shudder;  they 
seemed  to  be  something  human. 

The  soldiers  were  not  partial  to  MacDowell  canon; 
they  knew  too  much  about  the  place;  and  we  all 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  we  emerged  from  this 
dark  uncanny  road  and  saw  the  lights  of  the  post, 
lying  low,  long,  flat,  around  a  square. 

(208) 


CHAPTER  XXV 

OI.D   CAMP    MACDOWKI.I. 

We  were  expected,  evidently,  for  as  we  drove  along 
the  road  in  front  of  the  officers'  quarters  they  all 
came  out  to  meet  us,  and  we  received  a  great  welcome. 

Captain  Corliss  of  C  company  welcomed  us  to  the 
post  and  to  his  company,  and  said  he  hoped  I  should 
like  MacDowell  better  than  I  did  Ehrenberg.  Now 
Ehrenberg  seemed  years  agone,  and  I  could  laugh  at 
the  mention  of  it. 

Supper  was  awaiting  us  at  Captain  Corliss's,  and 
Mrs.  Kendall,  wife  of  Lieutenant  Kendall,  Sixth 
Cavalry,  had,  in  Jack's  absence,  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  our  quarters.  So  I  went  at  once  to  a 
comfortable  home,  and  life  in  the  army  began  again 
for  me. 

How  good  everything  seemed!  There  was  Doctor 
Clark,  whom  I  had  met  first  at  Ehrenberg,  and  who 
wanted  to  throw  Patrocina  and  Jesusita  into  the 
Colorado.  I  was  so  glad  to  find  him  there;  he  was 
such  a  good  doctor,  and  we  never  had  a  moment's 
anxiety,  as  long  as  he  staid  at  Camp  MacDowell.  Our 
confidence  in  him  was  unbounded. 

It  was  easy  enough  to  obtain  a  man  from  the  com- 
pany. There  were  then  no  hateful  laws  forbidding 
soldiers  to  work  in  officers'  families;    no  dreaded  in- 

209 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

specters,  who  put  the  flat  question,  "Do  you  employ 
a  soldier  for  menial  labor?" 

Captain  Corliss  gave  me  an  old  man  by  the  name 
of  Smith,  and  he  was  glad  to  come  and  stay  with  us 
and  do  what  simple  cooking  we  required.  One  of  the 
laundresses  let  me  have  her  daughter  for  nursery- 
maid, and  our  small  establishment  at  Camp  MacDowell 
moved  on  smoothly,  if  not  with  elegance. 

The  officers'  quarters  were  a  long,  low  line  of 
adobe  buildings  with  no  space  between  them;  the 
houses  were  separated  only  by  thick  walls.  In  front, 
the  windows  looked  out  over  the  parade  ground.  In 
the  rear,  they  opened  out  on  a  road  which  ran  along 
the  whole  length,  and  on  the  other  side  of  which  lay 
another  row  of  long,  low  buildings  which  were  the 
kitchens,  each  set  of  quarters  having  its  own. 

We  occupied  the  quarters  at  the  end  of  the  row, 
and  a  large  bay  window  looked  out  over  a  rather 
desolate  plain,  and  across  to  the  large  and  well-kept 
hospital.  As  all  my  draperies  and  pretty  cretonnes 
had  been  burnt  up  on  the  ill-fated  ship,  I  had  nothing 
but  bare  white  shades  at  the  windows,  and  the  rooms 
looked  desolate  enough.  But  a  long  divan  was  soon 
built,  and  some  coarse  yellow  cotton  bought  at  John 
Smith's  (the  sutler's)  store,  to  cover  it.  My  pretty 
rugs  and  mats  were  also  gone,  and  there  was  only 
the  old  ingrain  carpet  from  Fort  Russell.  The  floors 
were  adobe,  and  some  men  from  the  company  came 
and  laid  down  old  canvas,  then  the  carpet,  and  drove 

210 


*•*  »3»»>» 


Our  Quarters  at  Old  Camp  MacDowell,  Arizona,  1877. 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

in  great  spikes  around  the  edge,  to  hold  it  down. 
The  floors  of  the  bedroom  and  dining-room  were  cov- 
ered with  canvas  in  the  same  manner.  Our  furnish- 
ings were  very  scanty  and  I  felt  very  mournful  about 
the  loss  of  the  boxes.  We  could  not  claim  restitution, 
as  the  steamship  company  had  been  courteous  enough 
to  take  the  boxes  down  free  of  charge. 

John  Smith,  the  post  trader  (the  name  ''sutler"  fell 
into  disuse  about  now),  kept  a  large  store,  but  nothing 
that  I  could  use  to  beautify  my  quarters  with, — and 
our  losses  had  been  so  heavy  that  we  really  could  not 
afford  to  send  back  East  for  more  things.  My  new 
white  dresses  came,  and  were  suitable  enough  for  the 
winter  climate  of  MacDowell.  But  I  missed  the 
thousand  and  one  accessories  of  a  woman's  wardrobe, 
the  accumulation  of  years,  the  comfortable  things 
which  money  could  not  buy,  especially  at  that  distance. 

I  had  never  learned  how  to  make  dresses  or  to  fit 
garments,  and,  although  I  knew  how  to  sew,  my 
accomplishments  ran  more  in  the  line  of  outdoor 
sports. 

But  Mrs.  Kendall,  whose  experience  in  frontier  life 
had  made  her  self-reliant,  lent  me  some  patterns, 
and  I  bought  some  of  John  Smith's  calico  and  went  to 
work  to  make  gowns  suited  to  the  hot  weather.  This 
was  in  1877,  and  every  one  will  remember  that  the 
ready-made  house-gowns  were  not  to  be  had  in  those 
days  in  the  excellence  and  profusion  in  which  they 
can  to-day  be  found,  in  all  parts  of  the  country. 

211 


k 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Now  Mrs.  Kendall  was  a  tall,  fine  woman,  much 
larger  than  I,  but  I  used  her  patterns  without  altera- 
tions, and  the  result  was  something  like  a  bag.  They 
were  freshly  laundried  and  cool,  however,  and  I  did 
not  place  so  much  importance  on  the  lines  of  them, 
as  the  young  women  of  the  present  time  do.  To-day, 
the  poorest  farmer's  wife  in  the  wilds  of  Arkansas  or 
Alaska  can  wear  better  fitting  gowns  than  I  wore  then. 
But  my  riding  habits,  of  which  I  had  several  kinds, 
to  suit  warm  and  cold  countries,  had  been  left  in 
Jack's  care  at  Ehrenberg,  and  as  long  as  these  fitted 
well,  it  did  not  so  much  matter  about  the  gowns. 

Captain  Chaffee,  who  commanded  the  company  of 
the  Sixth  Cavalry  stationed  there,  was  away  on  leave, 
but  Mr.  Kendall,  his  first  lieutenant,  consented  for 
me  to  exercise  "Cochise,"  Captain  Chaflfee's  Indian 
pony,  and  I  had  a  royal  time. 

Cavalry  officers  usually  hate  riding:  that  is,  riding 
for  pleasure;  for  they  are  in  the  saddle  so  much, 
for  dead  earnest  work;  but  a  young  officer,  a  second 
lieutenant,  not  long  out  from  the  Academy,  liked  to 
ride,  and  we  had  many  pleasant  riding  parties.  Mr. 
Dravo  and  I  rode  one  day  to  the  Mormon  settlement, 
seventeen  miles  away,  on  some  business  with  the 
bishop,  and  a  Mormon  woman  gave  us  a  lunch  of  fried 
salt  pork,  potatoes,  bread,  and  milk.  How  good  it 
tasted,  after  our  long  ride !  and  how  we  laughed  about 
it  all,  and  jollied,  after  the  fashion  of  young  people, 
all  the  way  back  to  the  post!     Mr.  Dravo  had  also 

212 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

lost  all  his  things  on  the  "Montana,"  and  we  sympa- 
thized greatly  with  each  other.  He,  however,  had 
sent  an  order  home  to  Pennsylvania,  duplicating  all 
the  contents  of  his  boxes.  I  told  him  I  could  not 
duplicate  mine,  if  I  sent  a  thousand  orders  East. 

When,  after  some  months,  his  boxes  came,  he 
brought  me  in  a  package,  done  up  in  tissue  paper  and 
tied  with  ribbon:  "Mother  sends  you  these;  she 
wrote  that  I  was  not  to  open  them;  I  think  she  felt 
sorry  for  you,  when  I  wrote  her  you  had  lost  all  your 
clothing.  I  suppose,''  he  added,  mustering  his  West 
Point  French  to  the  front,  and  handing  me  the  pack- 
age, "it  is  what  you  ladies  call  'lingerie.'  " 

I  hope  I  blushed,  and  I  think  I  did,  for  I  was  not 
so  very  old,  and  I  was  touched  by  this  sweet  remem- 
brance from  the  dear  mother  back  in  Pittsburgh.  And 
so  many  lovely  things  happened  all  the  time;  every- 
body was  so  kind  to  me.  Mrs.  Kendall  and  her  young 
sister,  Kate  Taylor,  Mrs.  John  Smith  and  I,  were  the 
only  women  that  winter  at  Camp  MacDowell.  After- 
wards, Captain  Corliss  brought  a  bride  to  the  post, 
and  a  new  doctor  took  Doctor  Clark's  place. 

There  v/ere  interminable  scouts,  which  took  both 
cavalry  and  infantry  out  of  the  post.  We  heard  a 
great  deal  about  "chasing  Injuns"  in  the  Superstition 
Mountains,  and  once  a  lieutenant  of  infantry  went 
out  to  chase  an  escaping  Indian  Agent. 

Old  Smith,  my  cook,  was  not  very  satisfactory;  he 
drank  a  good  deal,  and  I  got  very  tired  of  the  trouble 

213 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

he  caused  me.  It  was  before  the  days  of  the  canteen, 
and  soldiers  could  get  all  the  whiskey  they  wanted 
at  the  trader's  store ;  and,  it  being  generally  the  brand 
that  was  known  in  the  army  as  ''Forty  rod,''  they  got 
very  drunk  on  it  sometimes.  I  never  had  it  in  my 
heart  to  blame  them  much,  poor  fellows,  for  every 
human  beings  wants  and  needs  some  sort  of  recreation 
and  jovial  excitement. 

Captain  Corliss  said  to  Jack  one  day,  in  my  pres- 
ence, ''I  had  a  fine  batch  of  recruits  come  in  this 
morning." 

"That's  lovely,"  said  I;  ''what  kind  of  men  are 
they?  Any  good  cooks  amongst  them?"  (for  I  was 
getting  very  tired  of  Smith). 

Captain  Corliss  smiled  a  grim  smile.  "What  do 
you  think  the  United  States  Government  enlists  men 
for?"  said  he;  "do  you  think  I  want  my  company 
to  be  made  up  of  dish-washers?" 

He  was  really  quite  angry  with  me,  and  I  con- 
cluded that  I  had  been  too  abrupt,  in  my  eagerness 
for  another  man,  and  that  my  ideas  on  the  subject 
were  becoming  warped.  I  decided  that  I  must  be 
more  diplomatic  in  the  future,  in  my  dealings  with 
the  Captain  of  C  company. 

The  next  day,  when  we  went  to  breakfast,  whom 
did  we  find  in  the  dining-room  but  Bowen!  Our  old 
Bowen  of  the  long  march  across  the  Territory!  Of 
Camp   Apache   and   K  company !     He   had   his  white 

214 


3  »  ')  5 


Bowen,  our  Faithful  Soldier-Cook, 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

apron  on,  his  hair  rolled  back  in  his  most  fetching 
style,  and  was  putting  the  coffee  on  the  table. 

"But,  Bowen,"  said  I,  ''where — how  on  earth — did 
you — how  did  you  know  we — what  does  it  mean?" 

Bowen  saluted  the  First  Lieutenant  of  C  company, 
and  said:  ''Well,  sir,  the  fact  is,  my  time  was  out, 
and  I  thought  I  would  quit.  I  went  to  San  Fran- 
cisco and  worked  in  a  miners'  restaurant''  (here  he 
hesitated),  "but  I  didn't  hke  it,  and  I  tried  some- 
thing else,  and  lost  all  my  money,  and  I  got  tired  of 
the  town,  so  I  thought  I'd  take  on  again,  and  as  I 
knowed  ye's  were  in  C  company  now,  I  thought  I'd 
come  to  MacDowell,  and  I  came  over  here  this  morn- 
ing and  told  old  Smith  he'd  better  quit;  this  was  my 
job,  and  here  I  am,  and  I  hope  ye're  all  well — and  the 
little  boy?" 

Here  was  loyalty  indeed,  and  here  was  Bowen  the 
Immortal,  back  again! 

And  now  things  ran  smoothly  once  more.  Roasts 
of  beef  and  haunches  of  venison,  ducks  and  other 
good  things  we  had  through  the  winter. 

It  was  cool  enough  to  wear  white  cotton  dresses,  but 
nothing  heavier.  It  never  rained,  and  the  climate 
was  superb,  although  it  was  always  hot  in  the  sun. 
We  had  heard  that  it  was  very  hot  here;  in  fact, 
people  called  MacDowell  by  very  bad  names.  As  the 
spring  came  on,  we  began  to  realize  that  the  epithets 
applied  to  it  might  be  quite  appropriate. 

215 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

In  front  of  our  quarters  was  a  ramada,^  supported 
by  rude  poles  of  the  cottonwood  tree.  Then  came  the 
sidewalk,  and  the  acequia  (ditch),  then  a  row  of 
young  cottonwood  trees,  then  the  parade  ground. 
Through  the  acequia  ran  the  clear  water  that  supplied 
the  post,  and  under  the  shade  of  the  ramadas,  hung 
the  large  ollas  from  which  we  dipped  the  drinking 
water,  for  as  yet,  of  course,  ice  was  not  even  dreamed 
of  in  the  far  plains  of  MacDowell.  The  heat  became 
intense,  as  the  summer  approached.  To  sleep  inside 
the  house  was  impossible,  and  we  soon  followed  the 
example  of  the  cavalry,  who  had  their  beds  out  on  the 
parade  ground. 

Two  iron  cots,  therefore,  were  brought  from  the 
hospital,  and  placed  side  by  side  in  front  of  our 
quarters,  beyond  the  acequia  and  the  cottonwood  trees, 
in  fact,  out  in  the  open  space  of  the  parade  ground. 
Upon  these  were  laid  some  mattresses  and  sheets,  and 
after  "taps"  had  sounded,  and  lights  were  out,  we 
retired  to  rest.  Near  the  cots  stood  Harry's  crib. 
We  had  not  thought  about  the  ants,  however,  and  they 
swarmed  over  our  beds,  driving  us  into  the  house. 
The  next  morning  Bowen  placed  a  tin  can  of  water 
under  each  point  of  contact;  and  as  each  cot  had  eight 
legs,  and  the  crib  had  four,  twenty  cans  were  neces- 
sary. He  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  remove  the 
labels,  and  the  pictures  of  red  tomatoes  glared  at  us 


*A  sort  of  rude  awning  made  of  brush  and  supported  by 
cottonwood  i>oles. 

2l6 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

in  the  hot  sun  through  the  day;  they  did  not  look 
poetic,  but  our  old  enemies,  the  ants,  were  outwitted. 

There  was  another  species  of  tiny  insect,  however, 
which  seemed  to  drop  from  the  little  cotton-wood 
trees  which  grew  at  the  edge  of  the  aceqicia,  and 
myriads  of  them  descended  and  crawled  all  over  us, 
so  we  had  to  have  our  beds  moved  still  farther  out 
on  to  the  open  space  of  the  parade  ground. 

And  now  we  were  fortified  against  all  the  veno- 
mous creeping  things  and  we  looked  forward  to  bliss- 
ful nights  of  rest. 

We  did  not  look  along  the  line,  when  we  retired  to 
our  cots,  but  if  we  had,  we  should  have  seen  shadowy 
figures,  laden  with  pillows,  flying  from  the  houses  to 
the  cots  or  vice  versa.  It  was  certainly  a  novel 
experience. 

With  but  a  sheet  for  a  covering,  there  we  lay, 
looking  up  at  the  starry  heavens.  I  watched  the 
Great  Bear  go  around,  and  other  constellations  and 
seemed  to  come  into  close  touch  with  Nature  and  the 
mysterious  night.  But  the  melancholy  solemnity  of 
my  communings  was  much  affected  by  the  howling  of 
the  coyotes,  which  seemed  sometimes  to  be  so  near 
that  I  jumped  to  the  side  of  the  crib,  to  see  if  my 
little  boy  was  being  carried  off.  The  good  sweet 
slumber  which  I  craved  never  came  to  me  in  those 
weird  Arizona  nights  under  the  stars. 

At  about  midnight,  a  sort  of  dewy  coolness  would 
come  down  from  the  sky,  and  we  could  then  sleep  a 

217 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

little;  but  the  sun  rose  incredibly  early  in  that 
southern  country,  and  by  the  crack  of  dawn  sheeted 
figures  were  to  be  seen  darting  back  into  the  quarters, 
to  try  for  another  nap.  The  nap  rarely  came  to 
any  of  us,  for  the  heat  of  the  houses  never  passed 
off,  day  or  night,  at  that  season.  After  an  early 
breakfast,  the  long  day  began  again. 

The  question  of  what  to  eat  came  to  be  a  serious 
one.  We  experimented  with  all  sorts  of  tinned  foods, 
and  tried  to  produce  some  variety  from  them,  but  it 
was  all  rather  tiresome.  We  almost  dreaded  the  visits 
of  the  Paymaster  and  the  Inspector  at  that  season,  as 
we  never  had  anything  in  the  house  to  give  them. 

One  hot  night,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  we  heard  the 
rattle  of  wheels,  and  an  ambulance  drew  up  at  our 
door.  Out  jumped  Colonel  Biddle,  Inspector  Gen- 
eral, from  Fort  Whipple.  *What  shall  I  give  him 
to  eat,  poor  hungry  man?"  I  thought.  I  looked  in 
the  wire-covered  safe,  which  hung  outside  the  kitchen, 
and  discovered  half  a  beefsteak-pie.  The  gallant 
Colonel  declared  that  if  there  was  one  thing  above  all 
others  that  he  liked,  it  was  cold  beefsteak-pie.  Lieu- 
tenant Thomas  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry  echoed  his  senti- 
ments, and  with  a  bottle  of  Cocomonga,  which  was 
always  kept  cooling  somewhere,  they  had  a  merry 
supper. 

These  visits  broke  the  monotony  of  our  life  at  Camp 
MacDowell.  We  heard  of  the  gay  doings  up  at  Fort 
Whipple,  and  of  the  lovely  climate  there. 

218 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

Mr.  Thomas  said  he  could  not  understand  why  we 
wore  such  hags  of  dresses.  I  told  him  spitefully  that 
if  the  women  of  Fort  Whipple  would  come  down  to 
MacDowell  to  spend  the  summer,  they  would  soon 
be  able  to  explain  it  to  him.  I  began  to  feel  em- 
barrassed at  the  fit  of  my  house-gowns.  After  a 
few  days  spent  with  us,  however,  the  mercury  rang- 
ing from  104  to  120  degrees  in  the  shade,  he  ceased 
to  comment  upon  our  dresses  or  our  customs. 

I  had  a  glass  jar  of  butter  sent  over  from  the 
Commissary,  and  asked  Colonel  Biddle  if  he  thought 
it  right  that  such  butter  as  that  should  be  bought 
by  the  purchasing  officer  in  San  Francisco.  It  had 
melted,  and  separated  into  layers  of  dead  white,  deep 
orange  and  pinkish-purple  colors.  Thus  I,  too,  as 
well  as  General  Miles,  had  my  turn  at  trying  to  re- 
form the  Commissary  Department  of  Uncle  Sam's 
army. 

Hammocks  were  swung  under  the  ramddas,  and 
after  luncheon  everybody  tried  a  siesta.  Then,  near 
sundown,  an  ambulance  came  and  took  us  over  to 
the  Verde  River,  about  a  mile  away,  wliere  we  bathed 
in  water  almost  as  thick  as  that  of  the  Great  Colorado. 
We  taught  Mrs.  Kendall  to  swim,  but  Mr.  Kendall, 
being  an  inland  man,  did  not  take  to  the  water. 
Now  the  Verde  River  was  not  a  very  good  substitute 
for  the  sea,  and  the  thick  water  filled  our  ears  and 
mouths,  but  it  gave  us  a  little  half  hour  in  the  day 
when  we  could  experience  a  feeling  of  being  cool,  and 

219 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

we  found  it  worth  while  to  take  the  trouble.  Thick 
clumps  of  mesquite  trees  furnished  us  with  dressing- 
rooms.  We  were  all  young,  and  youth  requires  so 
little  with  which  to  make  merry. 

After  the  meagre  evening  dinner,  the  Kendalls  and 
ourselves  sat  together  under  the  ramdda  until  taps, 
listening  generally  to  the  droll  anecdotes  told  by  Mr. 
Kendall,  who  had  an  inexhaustible  fund.  Then  an- 
other night  under  the  stars,  and  so  passed  the  time 
away. 

We  lived,  ate,  slept  by  the  bugle  calls.  Reveille 
means  sunrise,  when  a  Lieutenant  must  hasten  to  put 
himself  into  uniform,  sword  and  belt,  and  go  out  to 
receive  the  report  of  the  company  or  companies  of 
soldiers,  who  stand  drawn  up  in  line  on  the  parade 
ground. 

At  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  comes  the 
guard-mount,  a  function  always  which  everybody  goes 
out  to  see.  Then  the  various  drill  calls,  and  re- 
calls, and  sick-call  and  the  beautiful  stable-call  for  the 
cavalry,  when  the  horses  are  groomed  and  watered, 
the  thrilling  fire-call  and  the  startling  assembly,  or 
call-to-arms,  when  every  soldier  jumps  for  his  rifle 
and  every  officer  buckles  on  his  sword,  and  a 
woman's  heart  stands  still. 

Then  at  night,  ''tattoo,"  when  the  company  officers 
go  out  to  receive  the  report  of  ''all  present  and  ac- 
counted for" — and  shortly  after  that,  the  mournful 
"taps,"  a  signal  for  the  barrack  lights  to  be  put  out. 

220 


OLD  CAMP  MACDOWELL 

The  bugle  call  of  ''taps"  is  mournful  also  through 
association,  as  it  is  always  blown  over  the  grave  of 
a  soldier  or  an  officer,  after  the  coffin  has  been  lowered 
into  the  earth.  The  soldier-musicians  who  blow  the 
calls,  seem  to  love  the  call  of  ''taps,"  (strangely 
enough)  and  I  remember  well  that  there  at  Camp 
MacDowell,  we  all  used  to  go  out  and  listen  when 
"taps  went,"  as  the  soldier  who  blew  it,  seemed  to 
put  a  whole  world  of  sorrow  into  it,  turning  to  the 
four  points  of  the  compass  and  letting  its  clear  tones 
tremble  through  the  air,  away  off  across  the  Maricopa 
desert  and  then  toward  the  East,  our  home  so  far 
away.  We  never  spoke,  we  just  listened,  and  who 
can  tell  the  thoughts  that  each  one  had  in  his  mind? 
Church  nor  ministers  nor  priests  had  we  there  in 
those  distant  lands,  but  can  we  say  that  our  lives 
were  wholly  without  religion? 

The  Sunday  inspection  of  men  and  barracks,  which 
was  performed  with  much  precision  and  formality, 
and  often  in  full  dress  uniform,  gave  us  something 
by  which  we  could  mark  the  weeks,  as  they  slipped 
along.  There  was  no  religious  service  of  any  kind,  as 
Uncle  Sam  did  not  seem  to  think  that  the  souls  of 
us  people  in  the  outposts  needed  looking  after.  It 
would  have  afforded  much  comfort  to  the  Roman 
Catholics  had  there  been  a  priest  stationed  there. 

The  only  sermon  I  ever  heard  in  old  Camp  Mac- 
Dowell was  delivered  by  a  Mormon  Bishop  and  was 
of  a  rather  preposterous  nature,  neither  instructive 

221 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

nor  edifying.  But  the  good  Catholics  read  their 
prayer-books  at  home,  and  the  rest  of  us  almost  for- 
got that  such  organizations  as  churches  existed. 

Another  bright  winter  found  us  still  gazing  at  the 
Four  Peaks  of  the  MacDowell  Mountains,  the  only 
landmark  on  the  horizon.  I  was  glad,  in  those  days, 
that  I  had  not  staid  back  East,  for  the  life  of  an 
officer  without  his  family,  in  those  drear  places,  is 
indeed  a  blank  and  empty  one. 

''Four  years  I  have  sat  here  and  looked  at  the  Four 
Peaks,"  said  Captain  Corliss,  one  day,  "and  Vm  get- 
ting almighty  tired  of  it." 

(222) 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  SUDDEN  ORDER 

In  June,  1878,  Jack  was  ordered  to  report  to  the 
commanding  officer  at  Fort  Lowell  (near  the  ancient 
city  of  Tucson),  to  act  as  Quartermaster  and  Commis- 
sary at  that  post.  This  was  a  sudden  and  totally 
unexpected  order.  It  was  indeed  hard,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  cruel.  For  our  regiment  had  been  four  years 
in  the  Territory,  and  we  were  reasonably  sure  of 
being  ordered  out  before  long.  Tucson  lay  far  to  the 
south  of  us,  and  was  even  hotter  than  this  place.  But 
tiiere  was  nothing  to  be  done;  we  packed  up,  I  with 
a  heavy  heart.  Jack  with  his  customary  stoicism. 

With  the  grief  which  comes  only  at  that  time  in 
one's  life,  and  which  sees  no  end  and  no  limit,  I 
parted  from  my  friends  at  Camp  MacDowell.  Two 
years  together,  in  the  most  intimate  companionship, 
cut  off  from  the  outside  world,  and  away  from  all 
early  ties,  had  united  us  with  indissoluble  bonds, — 
and  now  we  were  to  part, — forever  as  I  thought. 

We  all  wept;  I  embraced  them  all,  and  Jack  lifted 
me  into  the  ambulance ;  Mrs.  Kendall  gave  a  last  kiss 
to  our  little  boy ;  Donahue,  our  soldier-driver,  loosened 
up  his  brakes,  cracked  his  long  whip,  and  away  we 
went,  down  over  the  flat,  through  the  dark  MacDowell 
canon,  with  the  chollas  nodding  to  us  as  we  passed, 

223 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

across  the  Salt  River,  and  on  across  an  open  desert 
to  Florence,  forty  miles  or  so  to  the  southeast  of  us. 

At  Florence  we  sent  our  military  transportation 
back  and  staid  over  a  day  at  a  tavern  to  rest.  We 
met  there  a  very  agreeable  and  cultivated  gentleman, 
Mr.  Charles  Poston,  who  was  en  route  to  his  home, 
somewhere  in  the  mountains  near  by.  We  took  the 
Tucson  stage  at  sundown,  and  travelled  all  night. 
I  heard  afterwards  more  about  Mr.  Poston:  he  had 
attained  some  reputation  in  the  literary  world  by 
writing  about  the  Sun-worshippers  of  Asia.  He  had 
been  a  great  traveller  in  his  early  life,  but  now  had 
built  himself  some  sort  of  a  house  in  one  of  the 
desolate  mountains  which  rose  out  of  these  vast  plains 
of  Arizona,  hoisted  his  sun-flag  on  the  top,  there  to 
pass  the  rest  of  his  days.  People  out  there  said  he 
was  a  sun-worshipper.  I  do  not  know.  ''But  when  I 
am  tired  of  life  and  people,"  I  thought,  "this  will  not 
be  the  place  I  shall  choose.'' 

Arriving  at  Tucson,  after  a  hot  and  tiresome  night 
in  the  stage,  we  went  to  an  old  hostelry.  Tucson 
looked  attractive.  Ancient  civilization  is  always  in- 
teresting to  me. 

Leaving  me  at  the  tavern,  my  husband  drove  out 
to  Fort  Lowell,  to  see  about  quarters  and  things  in 
general.  In  a  few  hours  he  returned  with  the  over- 
whelming news  that  he  found  a  dispatch  awaiting  him 
at  that  post,  ordering  him  to  return  immediately  to 
his  company  at  Camp  MacDowell,  as  the  Eighth  In- 

224 


A  SUDDEN  ORDER 

fantry  was  ordered  to  the  Department  of  California. 

Ordered  ''ouf  at  last!  I  felt  like  jumping  up 
onto  the  table,  climbing  onto  the  roof,  dancing  and 
singing  and  shouting  for  joy !  Tired  as  we  were  (and 
I  thought  I  had  reached  the  limit),  we  were  not  too 
tired  to  take  the  first  stage  back  for  Florence,  which 
left  that  evening.  Those  two  nights  on  the  Tucson 
stage  are  a  blank  in  my  memory.  I  got  through  them 
somehow. 

In  the  morning,  as  we  approached  the  town  of 
Florence,  the  great  blue  army  wagon  containing  our 
household  goods,  hove  in  sight — its  white  canvas  cover 
stretched  over  hoops,  its  six  sturdy  mules  coming 
along  at  a  good  trot,  and  Sergeant  Stone  cracking  his 
long  whip,  to  keep  up  a  proper  pace  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Tucson  stage-driver. 

Jack  called  him  to  halt,  and  down  went  the  Ser- 
geant's big  brakes.  Both  teams  came  to  a  stand-still, 
and  we  told  the  Sergeant  the  news.  Bewilderment, 
surprise,  joy,  followed  each  other  on  the  old  Sergeant's 
countenance.  He  turned  his  heavy  team  about,  and 
promised  to  reach  Camp  MacDowell  as  soon  as  the 
animals  could  make  it.  At  Florence,  we  left  the  stage, 
and  went  to  the  little  tavern  once  more;  the  stage- 
route  did  not  lie  in  our  direction,  so  we  must  hire  a 
private  conveyance  to  bring  us  to  Camp  MacDowell. 
Jack  found  a  man  who  had  a  good  pair  of  ponies  and 
an  open  buckboard.     Towards  night  we  set  forth  to 

225 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

cross  the  plain  which  lies  between  Florence  and  the 
Salt  River,  due  northwest  by  the  map. 

When  I  saw  the  driver  I  did  not  care  much  for  his 
appearance.  He  did  not  inspire  me  with  confidence, 
but  the  ponies  looked  strong,  and  we  had  forty  or 
fifty  miles  before  us. 

After  we  got  fairly  into  the  desert,  which  was  a 
trackless  waste,  I  became  possessed  by  a  feeling  that 
the  man  did  not  know  the  way.  He  talked  a  good 
deal  about  the  North  Star,  and  the  fork  in  the  road, 
and  that  we  must  be  sure  not  to  miss  it. 

It  was  a  still,  hot,  starlit  night.  Jack  and  the 
driver  sat  on  the  front  seat.  They  had  taken  the  back 
seat  out,  and  my  little  boy  and  I  sat  in  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon,  with  the  hard  cushions  to  lean  against 
through  the  night.  I  suppose  we  were  drowsy  with 
sleep;  at  all  events,  the  talk  about  the  fork  of  the 
road  and  the  North  Star  faded  away  into  dreams. 

I  awoke  with  a  chilly  feeling,  and  a  sudden  jolt  over 
a  rock.  "I  do  not  recollect  any  rocks  on  this  road. 
Jack,  when  we  came  over  it  in  the  ambulance,"  said  I. 

'^Neither  do  I,''  he  replied. 

I  looked  for  the  North  Star:  I  had  looked  for  it 
often  when  in  open  boats.  It  was  away  off  on  our 
left,  the  road  seemed  to  be  ascending  and  rocky :  I  had 
never  seen  this  piece  of  road  before,  that  I  was  sure  of. 

''We  are  going  to  the  eastward,"  said  I,  "and  we 
should  be  going  northwest." 

"My  dear,  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep ;  the  man  knows 
226 


A  SUDDEN  ORDER 

the  road;  he  is  taking  a  short  cut,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  Lieutenant.  There  was  something  not  at  all  re- 
assuring in  his  tones,  however. 

The  driver  did  not  turn  his  head  nor  speak.  I 
looked  at  the  North  Star,  which  was  getting  farther 
and  farther  on  our  left,  and  I  felt  the  gloomy  con- 
viction that  we  were  lost  on  the  desert. 

Finally,  at  daylight,  after  going  higher  and  higher, 
we  drew  up  in  an  old  deserted  mining-camp. 

The  driver  jerked  his  ponies  up,  and,  with  a  sullen 
gesture,  said,  ''We  must  have  missed  the  fork  of  the 
road ;  this  is  Picket  Post" 

''Great  Heavens!''  I  cried;  "how  far  out  of  the 
way  are  we?" 

"About  fifteen  miles,"  he  drawled,  "you  see  we 
shall  have  to  go  back  to  the  place  where  the  road 
forks,  and  make  a  new  start." 

I  nearly  collapsed  with  discouragement.  I  looked 
around  at  the  ruined  walls  and  crumbling  pillars  of 
stone,  so  weird  and  so  grey  in  the  dawning  light: 
it  might  have  been  a  worshipping  place  of  the  Druids. 
My  little  son  shivered  with  the  light  chill  which  comes 
at  daybreak  in  those  tropical  countries:  we  were 
hungry  and  tired  and  miserable :  my  bones  ached,  and 
I  felt  like  crying. 

We  gave  the  poor  ponies  time  to  breathe,  and  took 
a  bite  of  cold  food  ourselves. 

Ah !    that  blighted  and   desolate  place  called   Picket 

227 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Post!  Forsaken  by  God  and  man,  it  might  have 
been  the  entrance  to  Hades. 

Would  the  ponies  hold  out?  They  looked  jaded 
to  be  sure,  but  we  had  stopped  long  enough  to  breathe 
them,  and  away  they  trotted  again,  down  the  moun- 
tain this  time,  instead  of  up. 

It  was  broad  day  when  we  reached  the  fork  of  the 
road,  which  we  had  not  been  able  to  see  in  the  night : 
there  was  no  mistaking  it  now. 

We  had  travelled  already  about  forty  miles,  thirty 
more  lay  before  us;  but  there  were  no  hills,  it  was 
all  flat  country,  and  the  owner  of  these  brave  little 
ponies  said  we  could  make  it. 

As  we  neared  the  MacDowell  canon,  we  met  Captain 
Corliss  marching  out  with  his  company  (truly  they 
had  lost  no  time  in  starting  for  California),  and  he 
told  his  First  Lieutenant  he  would  make  slow  marches, 
that  we  might  overtake  him  before  he  reached  Yuma. 

We  were  obliged  to  wait  at  Camp  MacDowell  for 
Sergeant  Stone  to  arrive  with  our  wagonful  of  house- 
hold goods,  and  then,  after  a  mighty  weeding  out  and 
repacking,  we  set  forth  once  more,  with  a  good  team 
of  mules  and  a  good  driver,  to  join  the  command.  We 
bade  the  Sixth  Cavalry  people  once  more  good-bye, 
but  I  was  so  nearly  dead  by  this  time,  with  the  heat, 
and  the  fatigue  of  all  this  hard  travelling  and  packing 
up,  that  the  keener  edge  of  my  emotions  was  dulled. 
Eight  days  and  nights  spent  in  travelling  hither  and 

228 


A  SUDDEN  ORDER 

thither  over  those  hot  plains   in   Southern  Arizona, 
and  all  for  what? 

Because  somebody  in  ordering  somebody  to  change 
his  station,  had  forgotten  that  somebody's  regiment 
was  about  to  be  ordered  out  of  the  country  it  had 
been  in  for  four  years.  Also  because  my  husband  was 
a  soldier  who  obeyed  orders  without  questioning  them. 
If  he  had  been  a  political  wire-puller,  many  of  our 
misfortunes  might  have  been  averted.  But  then, 
while  I  half  envied  the  wives  of  the  wire-pullers,  I 
took  a  sort  of  pride  in  the  blind  obedience  shown  by 
my  own  particular  soldier  to  the  orders  he  received. 

After  that  week's  experience,  I  held  another  col- 
loquy with  myself,  and  decided  that  wives  should  not 
follow  their  husbands  in  the  army,  and  that  if  I  ever 
got  back  East  again,  I  would  stay:  I  simply  could 
not  go  on  enduring  these  unmitigated  and  unreason- 
able hardships. 

The  Florence  man  staid  over  at  the  post  a  day  or  so 
to  rest  his  ponies.  I  bade  him  good-bye  and  told  him 
to  take  care  of  those  brave  little  beasts,  which  had 
travelled  seventy  miles  without  rest,  to  bring  us  to 
our  destination.  He  nodded  pleasantly  and  drove 
away.     ''A  queer  customer,"  I  observed  to  Jack. 

''Yes,"  answered  he,  "they  told  me  in  Florence 
that  he  was  a  'road  agent'  and  desperado,  but  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  anyone  else,  and  my  orders  were 
peremptory,  so  I  took  him.  I  knew  the  ponies  could 
pull  us  through,  by  the    looks    of    them ;    and  road 

229 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

agents  are  all  right  with  army  officers,  they  know 
they  wouldn't  get  anything  if  they  held  'em  up." 

''How  much  did  he  charge  you  for  the  trip?"  I 
asked. 

''Sixteen  dollars/'  was  the  reply.  And  so  ended 
the  episode.  Except  that  I  looked  back  to  Picket 
Post  with  a  sort  of  horror,  I  thought  no  more  about  it. 

(230) 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

the:   e:iGHTH   mot   I^EAV^S   ARIZONA 

And  now  after  the  eight  days  of  most  distressing 
heat,  and  the  fatigue  of  all  sorts  and  varieties  of 
travelHng,  the  nights  spent  in  a  stage-coach  or  at  a 
desert  inn,  or  in  the  road  agent's  buckboard,  holding 
always  my  little  son  close  to  my  side,  came  six  days 
more  of  journeying  down  the  valley  of  the  Gila. 

We  took  supper  in  Phoenix,  at  a  place  known  as 
"Devine's/'  I  was  hearing  a  good  deal  about 
Phoenix;  for  even  then,  its  gardens,  its  orchards  and 
its  climate  were  becoming  famous,  but  the  season  of 
the  year  was  unpropitious  to  form  a  favorable  opinion 
of  that  thriving  place,  even  if  my  opinions  of  Arizona, 
with  its  parched-up  soil  and  insufferable  heat,  had  not 
been  formed  already. 

We  crossed  the  Gila  somewhere  below  there,  and 
stopped  at  our  old  camping  places,  but  the  entire 
valley  was  seething  hot,  and  the  remembrance  of  the 
December  journey  seemed  but  an  aggravating  dream. 

We  joined  Captain  Corliss  and  the  company  at 
Antelope  Station,  and  in  two  more  days  were  at 
Yuma  City.  By  this  time,  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad  had  been  built  as  far  as  Yuma,  and  a  bridge 
thrown  across  the  Colorado  at  this  point.     It  seemed 

231 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

an  incongruity.  And  how  burning  hot  the  cars 
looked,  standing  there  in  the  Arizona  sun ! 

After  four  years  in  that  Territory,  and  remember- 
ing the  days,  weeks,  and  even  months  spent  in  travel- 
ling on  the  river,  or  marching  through  the  deserts, 
I  could  not  make  the  Pullman  cars  seem  a  reality. 

We  brushed  the  dust  of  the  Gila  Valley  from  our 
clothes,  I  unearthed  a  hat  from  somewhere,  and  some 
wraps  which  had  not  seen  the  light  for  nearly  two 
years,  and  prepared  to  board  the  train. 

I  cried  out  in  my  mind,  the  prayer  of  the  woman  in 
one  of  Fisher's  Ehrenberg  stories,  to  which  I  used  to 
listen  with  unmitigated  delight,  when  I  lived  there. 
The  story  was  this :  "Mrs.  Blank  used  to  live  here  in 
Ehrenberg ;  she  hated  the  place  just  as  you  do,  but  she 
was  obliged  to  stay.  Finally,  after  a  period  of  two 
years,  she  and  her  sister,  who  had  lived  with  her,  were 
able  to  get  away.  I  crossed  over  the  river  with  them 
to  Lower  California,  on  the  old  rope  ferry-boat  which 
they  used  to  have  near  Ehrenberg,  and  as  soon  as  the 
boat  touched  the  bank,  they  jumped  ashore,  and  down 
they  both  went  upon  their  knees,  clasped  their  hands, 
raised  their  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  Mrs.  Blank  said:  'I 
thank  Thee,  oh  Lord !  Thou  hast  at  last  delivered  us 
from  the  wilderness,  and  brought  us  back  to  God's 
country.     Receive  my  thanks,  oh  Lord !'  " 

And  then  Fisher  used  to  add:  "And  the  tears 
rolled  down  their  faces,  and  I  knew  they  felt  every 
word  they  spoke;    and  I  guess  you'll  feel  about  the 

232 


u 

'o 
O 


u 

J3 


o 

0) 

n 


2 

a 
o 


08 

a 


^ 


THE  EIGHTH  FOOT  LEAVES  ARIZONA 

same  way  when  you  get  out  of  Arizona,  even  if  you 
don't  quite  drop  on  your  knees/'  he  said. 

The  soldiers  did  not  look  half  so  picturesque,  climb- 
ing into  the  cars,  as  they  did  when  loading  onto  a 
barge;  and  when  the  train  went  across  the  bridge, 
and  we  looked  down  upon  the  swirling  red  waters  of 
the  Great  Colorado  from  the  windows  of  a  luxurious 
Pullman,  I  sighed;  and,  with  the  strange  contradic- 
toriness  of  the  human  mind,  I  felt  sorry  that  the  old 
days  had  come  to  an  end.  For,  somehow,  the  hard- 
ships and  deprivations  which  we  have  endured,  lose 
their  bitterness  when  they  have  become  only  a  memory. 

(233) 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

CAUJ^ORNIA   AND   NEVADA 

A  PORTION  of  our  regiment  was  ordered  to  Oregon, 
to  join  General  Howard,  who  was  conducting  the 
Bannock  Campaign,  so  I  remained  that  summer  in 
San  Francisco,  to  await  my  husband's  return. 

I  could  not  break  away  from  my  Arizona  habits. 
I  wore  only  white  dresses,  partly  because  I  had  no 
others  which  were  in  fashion,  partly  because  I  had 
become  imbued  with  a  profound  indifference  to  dress. 

"They'll  think  you're  a  Mexican,"  said  my  New 
England  aunt  (who  regarded  all  foreigners  with  con- 
tempt). "Let  them  think,"  said  I;  "I  almost  wish 
I  were;  for,  after  all,  they  are  the  only  people  who 
understand  the  philosophy  of  living.  Look  at  the 
tired  faces  of  the  women  in  your  streets,"  I  added, 
"one  never  sees  that  sort  of  expression  down  below, 
and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  be  caught  by 
the  whirlpool  of  advanced  civilization  again." 

Added  to  the  white  dresses,  I  smoked  cigarettes, 
and  slept  all  the  afternoons.  I  was  in  the  bondage 
of  tropical  customs,  and  I  had  lapsed  back  into  a  state 
of  what  my  aunt  called  semi-barbarism. 

"Let  me  enjoy  this  heavenly  cool  climate,  and  do 
not  worry  me,"  I  begged.  I  shuddered  when  I  heard 
people  complain  of  the  cold  winds  of  the  San  Fran- 

234 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

Cisco  summer.  How  do  they  dare  tempt  Fate,  thought 
I,  and  I  wished  them  all  in  Ehrenberg  or  MacDowell 
for  one  summer.  "I  think  they  might  then  know 
something  about  climate,  and  would  have  something 
to  complain  about !" 

How  I  revelled  in  the  flowers,  and  all  the  luxuries 
of  that  delightful  city! 

The  headquarters  of  the  Eighth  was  located  at 
Benicia,  and  General  Kautz,  our  Colonel,  invited  me 
to  pay  a  visit  to  his  wife.  A  pleasant  boat-trip  up 
the  Sacramento  River  brought  us  to  Benicia.  Mrs. 
Kautz,  a  handsome  and  accomplished  Austrian,  pre- 
sided over  her  lovely  army  home  in  a  manner  to 
captivate  my  fancy,  and  the  luxury  of  their  sur- 
roundings almost  made  me  speechless. 

"The  other  side  of  army  life,"  thought  I. 

A  visit  to  Angel  Island,  one  of  the  harbor  defences, 
strengthened  this  impression.  Four  years  of  life  in 
the  southern  posts  of  Arizona  had  almost  made  me 
believe  that  army  life  was  indeed  but  ''glittering 
misery,"  as  the  Germans  had  called  it. 

In  the  autumn,  the  troops  returned  from  Oregon, 
and  C  company  was  ordered  to  Camp  MacDermit,  a 
lonely  spot  up  in  the  northern  part  of  Nevada 
(Nevada  being  included  in  the  Department  of  Cali- 
fornia). I  was  sure  by  that  time  that  bad  luck  was 
pursuing  us.  I  did  not  know  so  much  about  the  "ins 
and  outs"  of  the  army  then  as  I  do  now. 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

At  my  aunt's  suggestion,  I  secured  a  Chinaman  of 
good  caste  for  a  servant,  and  by  deceiving  him  (also 
my  aunt's  advice)  with  the  idea  that  we  were  going 
only  as  far  as  Sacramento,  succeeded  in  making  him 
willing  to  accompany  us. 

We  started  east,  and  left  the  railroad  at  a  station 
called  ^Winnemucca.'*  MacDermit  lay  ninety  miles 
to  the  north.  But  at  Winnemucca  the  Chinaman 
balked.  ''You  say:  'AU'e  same  Saclamento':  lis 
place  heap  too  far:  me  no  likee!"  I  talked  to  him, 
and,  being  a  good  sort,  he  saw  that  I  meant  well,  and 
the  soldiers  bundled  him  on  top  of  the  army  wagon, 
gave  him  a  lot  of  good-natured  guying,  and  a  revolver 
to  keep  off  Indians,  and  so  we  secured  Hoo  Chack. 

Captain  Corliss  had  been  obliged  to  go  on  ahead 
with  his  wife,  who  was  in  the  most  delicate  health. 
The  post  ambulance  had  met  them  at  this  place. 

Jack  was  to  march  over  the  ninety  miles,  with  the 
company.  I  watched  them  starting  out,  the  men, 
glad  of  the  release  from  the  railroad  train,  their  guns 
on  their  shoulders,  stepping  off  in  military  style  and 
in  good  form. 

The  wagons  followed — the  big  blue  army  wagons, 
and  Hoo  Chack,  looking  rather  glum,  sitting  on  top  of 
a  pile  of  baggage. 

I  took  the  Silver  City  stage,  and  except  for  my  little 
boy  I  was  the  only  passenger  for  the  most  of  the  way. 
We  did  the  ninety  miles  without  resting  over,  except 
for  relays  of  horses. 

2^6 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

I  climbed  up  on  the  box  and  talked  with  the  driver. 
I  liked  these  stage-drivers.  They  were  ''nervy," 
fearless  men,  and  kind,  too,  and  had  a  great  dash  and 
go  about  them.  They  often  had  a  quiet  and  gentle 
bearing,  but  by  that  time  I  knew  pretty  well  what 
sort  of  stuff  they  were  made  of,  and  I  liked  to  have 
them  talk  to  me,  and  I  liked  to  look  out  upon  the  world 
through  their  eyes,  and  judge  of  things  from  their 
standpoint. 

It  was  an  easy  journey,  and  we  passed  a  comfortable 
night  in  the  stage. 

Camp  MacDermit  was  a  colorless,  forbidding  sort 
of  a  place.  Only  one  company  was  stationed  there, 
and  my  husband  was  nearly  always  scouting  in  the 
mxountains  north  of  us.  The  weather  was  severe,  and 
the  winter  there  was  joyless  and  lonesome.  The  ex- 
treme cold  and  the  loneliness  affected  my  spirits,  and 
I  suffered  from  depression. 

I  had  no  woman  to  talk  to,  for  Mrs.  Corliss,  who 
was  the  only  other  officer's  wife  at  the  post,  was  con- 
fined to  the  house  by  the  most  delicate  health,  and  her 
.  mind  was  wholly  absorbed  by  the  care  of  her  young 
infant.  There  were  no  nurses  to  be  had  in  that  deso- 
late corner  of  the  earth. 

One  day,  a  dreadful  looking  man  appeared  at  the 
door,  a  person  such  as  one  never  sees  except  on  the 
outskirts  of  civilization,  and  I  wondered  what  busi- 
ness brought  him.  He  wore  a  long,  black,  greasy 
frock  coat,  a  tall  hat,  and  had  the  face  of  a  sneak. 

237 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

He  wanted  the  Chinaman's  poll-tax,  he  said. 

*'But/'  I  suggested,  ''I  never  heard  of  collecting 
taxes  in  a  Government  post;  soldiers  and  officers  do 
not  pay  taxes." 

"That  may  be,''  he  replied,  "but  your  Chinaman 
is  not  a  soldier,  and  I  am  going  to  have  his  tax 
before  I  leave  this  house." 

"So,  ho,"  I  thought;  "a  threat!"  and  the  soldier's 
blood  rose  in  me. 

I  was  alone ;  Jack  was  miles  away  up  North.  Hoo 
Chack  appeared  in  the  hall;  he  had  evidently  heard 
the  man's  last  remark.  "Now,"  I  said,  "this  China- 
man is  in  my  employ,  and  he  shall  not  pay  any  tax, 
until  I  find  out  if  he  be  exempt  or  not." 

The  evil-looking  man  approached  the  Chinaman. 
Hoo  Chack  grew  a  shade  paler.  I  fancied  he  had  a 
knife  under  his  white  shirt;  in  fact,  he  felt  around 
for  it.  I  said,  "Hoo  Chack,  go  away,  I  will  talk  to 
this  man." 

I  opened  the  front  door.  "Come  with  me"  (to  the 
tax-collector)  ;  "we  will  ask  the  commanding  officer 
about  this  matter."  My  heart  was  really  in  my 
mouth,  but  I  returned  the  man's  steady  and  dogged 
gaze,  and  he  followed  me  to  Captain  Corliss'  quarters. 
I  explained  the  matter  to  the  Captain,  and  left  the 
man  to  his  mercy.  "Why  didn't  you  call  the  vSergeant 
of  the  Guard,  and  have  the  man  slapped  into  the 
guard-house?"  said  Jack,  when  I  told  him  about  it 
afterwards.    "The  man  had  no  business  around  here; 

238 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

he  was  trying  to  browbeat  you  into  giving  him  a 
dollar,  I  suppose." 

The  country  above  us  was  full  of  desperadoes  from 
Boise  and  Silver  City,  and  I  was  afraid  to  be  left 
alone  so  much  at  night;  so  I  begged  Captain  Corliss 
to  let  me  have  a  soldier  to  sleep  in  my  quarters.  He 
sent  me  old  Needham.  So  I  installed  old  Needham  in 
my  guest  chamber  with  his  loaded  rifle.  Now  old 
Needham  was  but  a  wisp  of  a  man;  long  years  of 
service  had  broken  down  his  health ;  he  was  all  wizened 
up  and  feeble ;  but  he  was  a  soldier;  I  felt  safe,  and 
could  sleep  once  more.  Just  the  sight  of  Needham 
and  his  old  blue  uniform  coming  at  night,  after  taps, 
was  a  comfort  to  me. 

Anxiety  filled  my  soul,  for  Jack  was  scouting  in 
the  Stein  Mountains  all  winter  in  the  snow,  after 
Indians  who  were  avowedly  hostile,  and  had  threat- 
ened to  kill  on  sight.  He  often  went  out  with  a  small 
pack-train,  and  some  Indian  scouts,  five  or  six  soldiers, 
and  I  thought  it  quite  wrong  for  him  to  be  sent  into 
the  mountains  with  so  small  a  number. 

Camp  MacDermit  was,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, a  ''one-company  post.''  We  all  know  what 
that  may  mean,  on  the  frontier.  Our  Second  Lieu- 
tenant was  absent,  and  all  the  hard  work  of  winter 
scouting  fell  upon  Jack,  keeping  him  away  for  weeks 
at  a  time. 

The  Piute  Indians  were  supposed  to  be  peaceful, 
and  their  old  chief,  Winnemucca,  once  the  warlike 

239 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  dreaded  foe  of  the  white  man,  was  now  quiet 
enough,  and  too  old  to  fight.  He  Hved,  with  his 
family,  at  an  Indian  village  near  the  post. 

He  came  to  see  me  occasionally.  His  dress  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  civilization  and  savagery.  He 
wore  the  chapeau  and  dress-coat  of  a  General  of  the 
American  Army,  with  a  large  epaulette  on  one  shoul- 
der. He  was  very  proud  of  the  coat,  because  General 
Crook  had  given  it  to  him.  His  shirt,  leggings  and 
moccasins  were  of  buckskin,  and  the  long  braids  of  his 
coal-black  hair,  tied  with  strips  of  red  flannel,  gave 
the  last  touch  to  this  incongruous  costume. 

But  I  must  say  that  his  demeanor  was  gentle  and 
dignified,  and,  after  recovering  from  the  superficial 
impressions  which  his  startling  costume  had  at  first 
made  upon  my  mind,  I  could  well  believe  that  he  had 
once  been  the  war-leader,  as  he  was  now  the  political 
head  of  his  once-powerful  tribe. 

Winnemucca  did  not  disdain  to  accept  some  little 
sugar-cakes  from  me,  and  would  sit  down  on  our 
veranda  and  munch  them. 

He  always  showed  me  the  pasteboard  medal  which 
hung  around  his  neck,  and  which  bore  General 
Howard's  signature;  and  he  always  said:  "General 
Howard  tell  me,  me  good  Injun,  me  go  up — up — 
up" — pointing  dramatically  towards  Heaven.  On 
one  occasion,  feeling  desperate  for  amusement,  I  said 
to  him:  "General  Howard  very  good  man,  but  he 
make  a  mistake;    where  you  go,  is  not  up — up — up, 

240 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

but,"  pointing  solemnly  to  the  earth  below  us,  ''down 
— down — down."  He  looked  incredulous,  but  I  as- 
sured him  it  was  a  nice  place  down  there. 

Some  of  the  scattered  bands  of  the  tribe,  however, 
were  restless  and  unsubdued,  and  gave  us  much 
trouble,  and  it  was  these  bands  that  necessitated  the 
scouts. 

My  little  son,  Harry,  four  years  old,  was  my  con- 
stant and  only  companion,  during  that  long,  cold,  and 
anxious  winter. 

My  mother  sent  me  an  appealing  invitation  to  come 
home  for  a  year.  I  accepted  gladly,  and  one  after- 
noon in  May,  Jack  put  us  aboard  the  Silver  City 
stage,  which  passed  daily  through  the  post. 

Our  excellent  Chinese  servant  promised  to  stay 
with  the  "Captain"  and  take  care  of  him,  and  as  I 
said  ''Good-bye,  Hoo  Chack,"  I  noticed  an  expression 
of  real  regret  on  his  usually  stolid  features. 

Occupied  with  my  thoughts,  on  entering  the  stage, 
I  did  not  notice  the  passengers  or  the  man  sitting  next 
me  on  the  back  seat.  Darkness  soon  closed  around  us, 
and  I  suppose  we  fell  asleep.  Between  naps,  I  heard 
a  queer  clanking  sound,  but  supposed  it  was  the 
chains  of  the  harness  or  the  stage-coach  gear.  The 
next  morning,  as  we  got  out  at  a  relay  station  for 
breakfast,  I  saw  the  handcuffs  on  the  man  next  to 
whom  I  had  sat  all  the  night  long.  The  sheriff  was 
on  the  box  outside.  He  very  obligingly  changed  seats 
with  me  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  and  evening  found 

241 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

us  on  the  overland  train  speeding  on  our  journey  East. 
Camp  MacDermit  with  its  dreary  associations  and 
surroundings  faded  gradually  from  my  mind,  like  a 
dream. 

The  year  of  1879  brought  us  several  changes.  My 
little  daughter  was  born  in  mid-summer  at  our  old 
home  in  Nantucket.  As  I  lay  watching  the  curtains 
move  gently  to  and  fro  in  the  soft  sea-breezes,  and 
saw  my  mother  and  sister  moving  about  the  room,  and 
a  good  old  nurse  rocking  my  baby  in  her  arms,  I 
could  but  think  of  those  other  days  at  Camp  Apache, 
when  I  lay  through  the  long  hours,  with  my  new-born 
baby  by  my  side,  watching,  listening  for  some  one 
to  come  in.  There  was  no  one,  no  woman  to  come, 
except  the  poor  hard-working  laundress  of  the  cavalry, 
who  did  come  once  a  day  to  care  for  the  baby. 

Ah !  what  a  contrast !  and  I  had  to  shut  my  eyes 
for  fear  I  should  cry,  at  the  mere  thought  of  those 
other  days. 

^fr  ^  *l^  T^  ^  ^F  ^F  ^  ^  ^F 

Jack  took  a  year's  leave  of  absence  and  joined  me 
in  the  autumn  at  Nantucket,  and  the  winter  was  spent 
in  New  York,  enjoying  the  theatres  and  various 
amusements  we  had  so  long  been  deprived  of.  Here 
we  met  again  Captain  Porter  and  Carrie  Wilkins, 
who  w^as  now  Mrs.  Porter.  They  were  stationed  at 
David's  Island,  one  of  the  harbor  posts,  and  we  went 

9.A2 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

over  to  see  them.     "Yes,"  he  said,  ''as  Jacob  waited 
seven  years  for  Rachel,  so  I  waited  for  Carrie." 

The  following  summer  brought  us  the  good  news 
that  Captain  Corliss'  company  was  ordered  to  Angel 
Island,  in  the  bay  of  San  Francisco.  ''Thank  good- 
ness," said  Jack,  "C  company  has  got  some  good  luck, 
at  last!" 

Joyfully  we  started  back  on  the  overland  trip  to 
California,  which  took  about  nine  days  at  that  time. 
Now,  travelling  with  a  year-old  baby  and  a  five-year- 
old  boy  was  quite  troublesome,  and  we  were  very 
glad  when  the  train  had  crossed  the  bleak  Sierras  and 
swept  down  into  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 

Arriving  in  San  Francisco,  we  went  to  the  old 
Occidental  Hotel,  and  as  we  were  going  in  to  dinner,  a 
card  was  handed  to  us.  "Hoo  Chack"  was  the  name 
on  the  card.  "That  Chinaman!"  I  cried  to  Jack. 
"How  do  you  suppose  he  knew  we  were  here?" 

We  soon  made  arrangements  for  him  to  accompany 
us  to  Angel  Island,  and  in  a  few  days  this  "heathen 
Chinee"  had  unpacked  all  our  boxes  and  made  our 
quarters  very  comfortable.  He  was  rather  a  high- 
caste  man,  and  as  true  and  loyal  as  a  Christian.  He 
never  broke  his  word,  and  he  staid  with  us  as  long  as 
we  remained  in  California. 

And  now  we  began  to  live,  to  truly  live;  for  we 
felt  that  the  years  spent  at  those  desert  posts  under 
the  scorching  suns  of  Arizona  had  cheated  us  out  of 
all  but  a  bare  existence  upon  earth. 

243 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

The  flowers  ran  riot  in  our  garden,  fresh  fruits  and 
vegetables,  fresh  fish,  and  all  the  luxuries  of  that 
marvellous  climate,  were  brought  to  our  door. 

A  comfortable  Government  steamboat  plied  between 
San  Francisco  and  its  harbor  posts,  and  the  distance 
was  not  great — only  three  quarters  of  an  hour.  So 
we  had  a  taste  of  the  social  life  of  that  fascinating 
city,  and  could  enjoy  the  theatres  also. 

On  the  Island,  we  had  music  and  dancing,  as  it 
was  the  headquarters  of  the  regiment.  Mrs.  Kautz, 
so  brilliant  and  gay,  held  grand  court  here — recep- 
tions, military  functions,  lawn  tennis,  bright  uniforms, 
were  the  order  of  the  day.  And  that  incomparable 
climate !  How  I  revelled  in  it !  When  the  fog  rolled 
in  from  the  Golden  Gate,  and  enveloped  the  great 
city  of  Saint  Francis  in  its  cold  vapors,  the  Island  of 
the  Angels  lay  warm  and  bright  in  the  sunshine. 

The  old  Spaniards  named  it  well,  and  the  old  Nan- 
tucket whalers  who  sailed  around  Cape  Horn  on  their 
way  to  the  Ar'tic,  away  back  in  the  eighteen  twenties, 
used  to  put  in  near  there  for  water,  and  were  well 
familiar  with  its  bright  shores,  before  it  was  touched 
by  man's  handiwork. 

Was  there  ever  such  an  emerald  green  as  adorned 
those  hills  which  sloped  down  to  the  bay  ?  Could  any- 
thing equal  the  fields  of  golden  escholzchia  which  lay 
there  in  the  sunshine?  Or  the  blue  masses  of  "baby- 
eye,"  which  opened  in  the  mornings  and  held  up  their 
pretty  cups  to  catch  the  dew? 

244 


*g         Lt.  C.  P.  Terrett,  8th  Inf.  Lt.  Bingham,  9th  Cav. 

Major  Wilhelm,  StH  Inf.  Lt.  Phil.  Reade. 

Lt.  Charley  Bailey,  8th  Inf. 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

Was  this  a  real  Paradise? 

It  surely  seemed  so  to  us;  and,  as  if  Nature  had 
not  done  enough,  the  Fates  stepped  in  and  sent  all 
the  agreeable  young  officers  of  the  regiment  there,  to 
help  us  enjoy  the  heavenly  spot. 

There  was  Terrett,  the  handsome  and  aristocratic 
young  Baltimorean,  one  of  the  finest  men  I  ever  saw 
in  uniform ;  and  Richardson,  the  stalwart  Texan,  and 
many  others,  with  whom  we  danced  and  played  tennis, 
and  altogether  there  was  so  much  to  do  and  to  enjoy 
that  Time  rushed  by  and  we  knew  only  that  we  were 
happy,  and  enchanted  with  Life. 

Did  any  uniform  ever  equal  that  of  the  infantry  in 
those  days  ?  The  dark  blue,  heavily  braided  ''blouse," 
the  white  stripe  on  the  light  blue  trousers,  the  jaunty 
cap?  And  then,  the  straight  backs  and  the  slim  lines 
of  those  youthful  figures !  It  seems  to  me  any  woman 
who  was  not  an  Egyptian  mummy  would  feel  her 
heart  thrill  and  her  blood  tingle  at  the  sight  of  them. 

Indians  and  deserts  and  Ehrenberg  did  not  exist 
for  me  any  more.  My  girlhood  seemed  to  have  re- 
turned, and  I  enjoyed  everything  with  the  keenest 
zest. 

My  old  friend  Charley  Bailey,  who  had  married 
for  his  second  wife  a  most  accomplished  young  San 
Francisco  girl,  lived  next  door  to  us. 

General  and  Mrs.  Kautz  entertained  so  hospitably, 
and  were  so  beloved  by  all.  Together  Mrs.  Kautz 
and   I    read   the    German   classics,   and   went   to   the 

245 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

German  theatre;  and  by  and  by  a  very  celebrated 
player,  Friedrich  Haase,  from  the  Royal  Theatre  of 
Berlin,  came  to  San  Francisco.  We  never  missed  a 
performance,  and  when  his  tour  was  over,  Mrs. 
Kautz  gave  a  lawn  party  at  Angel  Island  for  him 
and  a  few  of  the  members  of  his  company.  It  was 
charming.  I  well  remember  how  the  sun  shone  that 
day,  and,  as  we  strolled  up  from  the  boat  with  them, 
Frau  Haase  stopped,  looked  at  the  blue  sky,  the  lovely 
clouds,  the  green  slopes  of  the  Island  and  said :  ''Mein 
Gott!  Frau  Summerhayes,  was  ist  das  fur  ein  Para- 
dies!  Warum  haben  Sie  uns  nicht  gesagt,  Sie  wohnten 
im  ParadiesT 

So,  with  music  and  German  speech,  and  strolls  to 
the  North  and  to  the'  South  Batteries,  that  wonderful 
and  never-to-be-forgotten  day  with  the  great  Fried- 
rich  Haase  came  to  an  end. 

The  months  flew  by,  and  the  second  winter  found 
us  still  there;  we  heard  rumors  of  Indian  troubles  in 
Arizona,  and  at  last  the  orders  came.  The  ofificers 
packed  away  their  evening  clothes  in  camphor  and  had 
their  campaign  clothes  put  out  to  air,  and  got  their 
mess-chests  in  order,  and  the  post  was  alive  with  prep- 
arations for  the  field.  All  the  families  were  to  stay 
behind.  The  most  famous  Indian  renegade  was  to  be 
hunted  down,  and  serious  fighting  was  looked  for. 

At  last  all  was  ready,  and  the  day  was  fixed  for 
the  departure  of  the  troops. 

246 


o 

00 

00 


S 
< 

o 
a 


o 


O 


CALIFORNIA  AND  NEVADA 

The  winter  rains  had  set  in,  and  the  skies  were  grey, 
as  the  command  marched  down  to  the  boat. 

The  officers  and  soldiers  were  in  their  campaign 
clothes;  the  latter  had  their  blanket-rolls  and  haver- 
sacks slung  over  their  shoulders,  and  their  tin  cups, 
which  hung  from  the  haversacks,  rattled  and  jingled 
as  they  marched  down  in  even  columns  of  four,  over 
the  wet  and  grassy  slopes  of  the  parade  ground,  where 
so  short  a  time  before  all  had  been  glitter  and 
sunshine. 

I  realized  then  perhaps  for  the  first  time  what  the 
uniform  really  stood  for;  that  every  man  who  wore 
it,  was  going  out  to  fight — that  they  held  their  lives  as 
nothing.  The  glitter  was  all  gone;  nothing  but  sad 
reality  remained. 

The  officers'  wives  and  the  soldiers'  wives  followed 
the  troops  to  the  dock.  The  soldiers  marched  single 
file  over  the  gang-plank  of  the  boat,  the  officers  said 
good-bye,  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  "General  McPher- 
son"  sounded — and  they  were  off.  We  leaned  back 
against  the  coal-sheds,  and  soldiers'  and  officers'  wives 
alike  all  wept  together. 

And  now  a  season  of  gloom  came  upon  us.  The 
skies  were  dull  and  murky  and  the  rain  poured  down. 

Our  old  friend  Bailey,  who  was  left  behind  on 
account  of  illness,  grew  worse  and  finally  his  case  was 
pronounced  hopeless.  His  death  added  to  the  deep 
gloom  and  sadness  which  enveloped  us  all. 

A  few  of  the  soldiers  who  had  staid  on  the  Island 
247  , 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

to  take  care  of  the  post,  carried  poor  Bailey  to  the 
boat,  his  casket  wrapped  in  the  flag  and  followed  by  a 
little  procession  of  women.  I  thought  I  had  never 
seen  anything  so  sad. 

The  campaign  lengthened  out  into  months,  but  the 
California  winters  are  never  very  long,  and  before 
the  troops  came  back  the  hills  looked  their  brightest 
green  again.  The  campaign  had  ended  with  no  very 
serious  losses  to  our  troops  and  all  was  joyous  again, 
until  another  order  took  us  from  the  sea-coast  to  the 
interior  once  more. 

(248) 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

CHANGING  STATION 

It  was  the  custom  to  change  the  stations  of  the 
different  companies  of  a  regiment  about  every  two 
years.  So  the  autumn  of  '82  found  us  on  the  way 
to  Fort  Halleck,  a  post  in  Nevada,  but  differing  vastly 
from  the  desolate  MacDermit  station.  Fort  Halleck 
was  only  thirteen  miles  south  of  the  Overland  Rail- 
road, and  lay  near  a  spur  of  the  Humboldt  range. 
There  were  miles  of  sage-brush  between  the  railroad 
and  the  post,  but  the  mountains  which  rose  abruptly 
five  thousand  feet  on  the  far  side,  made  a  magnificent 
background  for  the  officers'  quarters,  which  lay 
nestled  at  the  bottom  of  the  foot-hills. 

''Oh!  what  a  lovely  post!''  I  cried,  as  we  drove  in. 

Major  Sanford  of  the  First  Cavalry,  with  Captain 
Carr  and  Lieutenant  Oscar  Brown,  received  us. 
''Dear  me,"  I  thought,  "if  the  First  Cavalry  is  made 
up  of  such  gallant  men  as  these,  the  old  Eighth 
Infantry  will  have  to  look  out  for  its  laurels." 

Mrs.  Sanford  and  Mrs.  Carr  gave  us  a  great  wel- 
come and  vied  with  each  other  in  providing  for  our 
comfort,  and  we  were  soon  established. 

It  was  so  good  to  see  the  gay  yellow  of  the  cavalry 
again !  Now  I  rode,  to  my  heart's  content,  and  it  was 
good  to  be  alive;  to  see  the  cavalry  drill,  and  to  ride 

249 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

through  the  canons,  gorgeous  in  their  flaming  autumn 
tints;  then  again  to  gallop  through  the  sage-brush, 
jumping  where  we  could  not  turn,  starting  up  rabbits 
by  the  score. 

That  little  old  post,  now  long  since  abandoned, 
marked  a  pleasant  epoch  in  our  life.  From  the 
ranches  scattered  around  we  could  procure  butter  and 
squabs  and  young  vegetables,  and  the  soldiers  culti- 
vated great  garden  patches,  and  our  small  dinners 
and  breakfasts   live   in   delightful   memory. 

At  the  end  of  two  years  spent  so  pleasantly  with 
the  people  of  the  First  Cavalry,  our  company  was 
again  ordered  to  Angel  Island.  But  a  second  very 
active  campaign  in  Arizona  and  Mexico,  against 
Geronimo,  took  our  soldiers  away  from  us,  and  we 
passed  through  a  period  of  considerable  anxiety. 
June  of  '86  saw  the  entire  regiment  ordered  to  take 
station  in  Arizona  once  more. 

We  travelled  to  Tucson  in  a  Pullman  car.  It  was 
hot  and  uninteresting.  I  had  been  at  Tucson  nine 
years  before,  for  a  few  hours,  but  the  place  seemed 
unfamiliar.  I  looked  for  the  old  tavern;  I  saw  only 
the  railroad  restaurant.  We  w^ent  in  to  take  breakfast, 
before  driving  out  to  the  post  of  Fort  Lowell,  seven 
miles  away.  Everything  seemed  changed.  Iced  can- 
taloupe was  served  by  a  spick-span  alert  waiter ;  then, 
quail  on  toast.  "Ice  in  Arizona  ?"  It  was  like  a  dream, 
and  I  remarked  to  Jack,  ''This  isn't  the  same  Arizona 
we  knew  in  '74,"  and  then,  *'I  don't  believe  I  like  it 

250 


CHANGING  STATION 

as  well,  either;  all  this  luxury  doesn't  seem  to  belong 
to  the  place." 

After  a  drive  behind  some  smart  mules,  over  a  flat 
stretch  of  seven  miles,  we  arrived  at  Fort  Lowell,  a 
rather  attractive  post,  with  a  long  line  of  officers' 
quarters,  before  which  ran  a  level  road  shaded  by 
beautiful  great  trees.  We  were  assigned  a  half  of 
one  of  these  sets  of  quarters,  and  as  our  half  had  no 
conveniences  for  house-keeping,  it  was  arranged  that 
we  should  join  a  mess  with  General  and  Mrs.  Kautz 
and  their  family.  We  soon  got  settled  down  to  our 
life  there,  and  we  had  various  recreations;  among 
them,  driving  over  to  Tucson  and  riding  on  horse- 
back are  those  which  I  remember  best.  We  made  a 
few  acquaintances  in  Tucson,  and  they  sometimes 
drove  out  in  the  evenings,  or  more  frequently  rode 
out  on  horseback.  Then  we  would  gather  together  on 
the  Kautz  piazza  and  everybody  sang  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  Mrs.  Kautz's  guitar.  It  was  very  hot,  of 
course;  we  had  all  expected  that,  but  the  luxuries 
obtainable  through  the  coming  of  the  railroad,  such  as 
ice,  and  various  summer  drinks,  and  lemons,  and 
butter,  helped  out  to  make  the  summer  there  more 
comfortable. 

We  slept  on  the  piazzas,  which  ran  around  the 
houses  on  a  level  with  the  ground.  At  that  time  the 
fad  for  sleeping  out  of  doors,  at  least  amongst  civilized 
people,  did  not  exist,  and  our  arrangements  were 
entirely  primitive. 

251 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Our  quarters  were  surrounded  by  a  small  yard  and 
a  fence;  the  latter  was  dilapidated,  and  the  gate 
swung  on  one  hinge.  We  were  seven  miles  from  any- 
where, and  surrounded  by  a  desolate  country.  I  did 
not  experience  the  feeling  of  terror  that  I  had  had  at 
Camp  Apache,  for  instance,  nor  the  grewsome  fear  of 
the  Ehrenberg  grave-yard,  nor  the  appalling  fright 
I  had  known  in  crossing  the  Mogollon  range  or  in 
driving  through  Sanford's  Pass.  But  still  there  was 
a  haunting  feeling  of  insecurity  which  hung  around 
me  especially  at  night.  I  was  awfully  afraid  of 
snakes,  and  no  sooner  had  we  lain  ourselves  down  on 
our  cots  to  sleep,  than  I  would  hear  a  rustling  among 
the  dry  leaves  that  had  blown  in  under  our  beds. 
Then  all  would  be  still  again;  then  a  crackling  and  a 
rustling — in  a  flash  I  would  be  sitting  up  in  bed. 
''Jack,  do  you  hear  that?"  Of  course  I  did  not  dare 
to  move  or  jump  out  of  bed,  so  I  would  sit,  rigid, 
scared.  "Jack !  what  is  it  ?"  ''Nonsense,  Mattie,  go 
to  sleep;  it's  the  toads  jumping  about  in  the  leaves." 
But  my  sleep  was  fitful  and  disturbed,  and  I  never 
knew  what  a  good  night's  rest  was. 

One  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  tremendous  snort 
right  over  my  face.  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked 
into  the  wild  eyes  of  a  big  black  bull.  I  think  I  must 
have  screamed,  for  the  bull  ran  clattering  off  the 
piazza  and  out  through  the  gate.  By  this  time  Jack 
was  up,  and  Harry  and  Katherine,  who  slept  on  the 
front  piazza,  came  running  out,  and  I  said:  "Well, 

252 


CHANGING  STATION 

this  is  the  Hmit  of  all  things,  and  if  that  gate  isn't 
mended  to-morrow,  I  will  know  the  reason  why." 

Now  I  heard  a  vague  rumor  that  there  was  a 
creature  of  this  sort  in  or  near  the  post,  and  that  he 
had  a  habit  of  wandering  around  at  night,  but  as  I  had 
never  seen  him,  it  had  made  no  great  impression  on 
my  mind.  Jack  had  a  great  laugh  at  me,  but  I  did 
not  think  then,  nor  do  I  now,  that  it  was  anything  to 
be  laughed  at. 

We  had  heard  much  of  the  old  Mission  of  San 
Xavier  del  Bac,  away  the  other  side  of  Tucson.  Mrs. 
Kautz  decided  to  go  over  there  and  go  into  camp  and 
paint  a  picture  of  San  Xavier.  It  was  about  sixteen 
miles  from  Fort  Lowell. 

So  all  the  camp  paraphernalia  was  gotten  ready  and 
several  of  the  officers  joined  the  party,  and  we  all 
went  over  to  San  Xavier  and  camped  for  a  few  days 
under  the  shadow  of  those  beautiful  old  walls.  This 
Mission  is  almost  unknown  to  the  American  traveler. 

Exquisite  in  color,  form  and  architecture,  it  stands 
there  a  silent  reminder  of  the  Past. 

The  curious  carvings  and  paintings  inside  the 
church,  and  the  precious  old  vestments  which  were 
shown  us  by  an  ancient  custodian,  filled  my  mind  with 
wonder.  The  building  is  partly  in  ruins,  and  the 
little  squirrels  were  running  about  the  galleries,  but 
the  great  dome  is  intact,  and  many  of  the  wonderful 
figures  which  ornament  it.  Of  course  we  know  the 
Spanish  built  it  about  the  middle  or  last  of  the  six- 

253 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

teenth  century,  and  that  they  tried  to  christianize  the 
tribes  of  Indians  who  hved  around  in  the  vicinity. 
But  there  is  no  sign  of  'priest  or  communicant  now, 
nothing  but  a  desolate  plain  around  it  for  miles.  No 
one  can  possibly  understand  how  the  building  of  this 
large  and  beautiful  mission  was  accomplished,  and 
I  believe  history  furnishes  very  little  information. 
In  its  archives  was  found  quite  recently  the  charter 
given  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  to  establish  the 
*'pueblo"  of  Tucson  about  the  beginning  of  the  i6th 
century. 

After  a  few  delightful  days,  we  broke  camp  and 
returned  to  Fort  Lowell. 

And  now  the  summer  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
we  were  anticipating  the  delights  of  the  winter  climate 
at  Tucson,  when,  without  a  note  of  warning,  came  the 
orders  for  Fort  Niobrara.  We  looked,  appalled,  in 
each  other's  faces,  the  evening  the  telegram  came,  for 
we  did  not  even  know  where  Fort  Niobrara  was. 

We  all  rushed  into  Major  Wilhelm's  quarters,  for 
he  always  knew  everything.  We  (Mrs.  Kautz  and 
several  of  the  other  ladies  of  the  post,  and  myself) 
were  in  a  state  of  tremendous  excitement.  We 
pounded  on  Major  Wilhelm's  door  and  we  heard  a 
faint  voice  from  his  bedroom  (for  it  was  after  ten 
o'clock)  ;  then  we  waited  a  few  moments  and  he  said, 
'^Come  in." 

We  opened  the  door,  but  there  being  no  light  in  his 
quarters  we  could  not  see  him.  A  voice  said:  "What 

254 


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O 

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O 
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a> 

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Altar,  Mission  of  San  Xavier  del  Bac. 


CHANGING  STATION 

in  the  name  of "  but  we  did  not  wait  for  him  to 

finish;  we  all  shouted:  ''Where  is  Fort  Niobrara?" 
"The  Devil!"  he  said.  ''Are  we  ordered  there?" 
"Yes,  yes,"  we  cried;  "where  is  it?"  "Why,  girls," 
he  said,  relapsing  into  his  customary  moderate  tones,' 
"It's  a  hell  of  a  freezing  cold  place,  away  up  north  in 
Nebraska." 

Wt  turned  our  backs  and  went  over  to  our  quarters 
to  have  a  consultation,  and  we  all  retired  with  sad 
hearts. 

Now,  just  think  of  it!  To  come  to  Fort  Lowell  in 
July,  only  to  move  in  November !  What  could  it 
mean  ?  It  was  hard  to  leave  the  sunny  South,  to 
spend  the  winter  in  those  congealed  regions  in  the 
North.  We  were  but  just  settled,  and  now  came 
another  break-up! 

Our  establishment  now,  with  two  children,  several 
servants,  two  saddle  horses,  and  additional  household 
furnishings,  was  not  so  simple  as  in  the  beginning  of 
our  army  life,  when  three  chests  and  a  box  or  two 
contained  our  worldly  goods.  Each  move  we  made 
was  more  difficult  than  the  last;  our  allowance  of 
baggage  did  not  begin  to  cover  what  we  had  to  take 
along,  and  this  added  greatly  to  the  expense  of  moving. 

The  enormous  waste  attending  a  move,  and  the 
heavy  outlay  incurred  in  travelling  and  getting  set- 
tled anew,  kept  us  always  poor;  these  considerations 
increased  our  chagrin  over  this  unexpected  change  of 
station.     There   was   nothing   tQ   be   done,   however, 

255 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Orders  are  relentless,  even  if  they  seem  senseless, 
which  this  one  did,  to  the  women,  at  least,  of  the 
Eighth  Infantry. 

(256) 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MRT    NIOBRARA 

Thi:  journey  itself,  however,  was  not  to  be  dreaded, 
although  it  was  so  undesired.  It  was  entirely  by  rail 
across  New  Mexico  and  Kansas,  to  St.  Joseph,  then  up 
the  Missouri  River  and  then  across  the  state  to  the 
westward.  Finally,  after  four  or  five  days,  we 
reached  the  small  frontier  town  of  Valentine,  in  the 
very  northwest  corner  of  the  bleak  and  desolate  state 
of  Nebraska.  The  post  of  Niobrara  was  four  miles 
away,  on  the  Niobrara  (swift  water)   River. 

Some  officers  of  the  Ninth  Cavalry  met  us  at  the 
station  with  the  post  ambulances.  There  were  six 
companies  of  our  regiment,  with  headquarters  and 
band. 

It  was  November,  and  the  drive  across  the  rolling 
prairie-land  gave  us  a  fair  glimpse  of  the  country 
around.  We  crossed  the  old  bridge  over  the  Niobrara 
River,  and  entered  the  post.  The  snow  lay  already 
on  the  brown  and  barren  hills,  and  the  place  struck 
a  chill  to  my  heart. 

The  Ninth  Cavalry  took  care  of  all  the  officers' 
families  until  we  could  get  established.  Lieutenant 
Bingham,  a  handsome  and  distinguished-looking  young 
bachelor,  took  us  with  our  two  children  to  his  quar- 
ters, and  made  us  delightfully  at  home.    His  quarters 

257 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

were  luxuriously  furnished,  and  he  was  altogether 
adorable.  This,  to  be  sure,  helped  to  soften  my  first 
harsh   impressions   of  the  place. 

Quarters  were  not  very  plentiful,  and  we  were 
compelled  to  take  a  house  occupied  by  a  young  officer 
of  the  Ninth.  What  base  ingratitude  it  seemed,  after 
the  kindness  we  had  accepted  from  his  regiment !  But 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  We  secured  a  colored  cook, 
who  proved  a  very  treasure,  and  on  inquiring  how 
she  came  to  be  in  those  wilds,  I  learned  that  she  had 
accompanied  a  young  heiress  who  eloped  with  a 
cavalry  lieutenant,  from  her  home  in  New  York  some 
years  before. 

What  a  contrast  was  here,  and  what  a  cruel  con- 
trast! With  blood  thinned  down  by  the  enervating 
summer  at  Tucson,  here  we  were,  thrust  into  the  polar 
regions !  Ice  and  snow  and  blizzards,  blizzards  and 
snow  and  ice !  The  mercury  disappeared  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  thermometer,  and  we  had  nothing  to  mark 
any  degrees  lower  than  40  below  zero.  Human  cal- 
culations had  evidently  stopped  there.  Enormous 
box  stoves  were  in  every  room  and  in  the  halls;  the 
old-fashioned  sort  that  we  used  to  see  in  school-rooms 
and  meeting-houses  in  New  England.  Into  these,  the 
soldiers  stuffed  great  logs  of  mountain  mahogany, 
and  the  fires  were  kept  roaring  day  and  night. 

A  board  walk  ran  in  front  of  the  officers'  quarters, 
and,  desperate  for  fresh  air  and  exercise,  some  of  the 
ladies  would  bundle  up  and  go  to  walk.     But  frozen 

258 


00 
00 


OS 


-§ 

^ 


^ 


o 


a 


O 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

chins,  ears  and  elbows  soon  made  this  undesirable, 
and  we  gave  up  trying  the  fresh  air,  unless  the  mer- 
cury rose  to  i8  below,  when  a  few  of  us  would  take 
our  daily  promenade. 

We  could  not  complain  of  our  fare,  however,  for 
our  larder  hung  full  of  all  sorts  of  delicate  and  de- 
licious things,  brought  in  by  the  grangers,  and  which 
we  were  glad  to  buy.  Prairie-chickens,  young  pigs, 
venison,  and  ducks,  all  hanging,  to  be  used  when 
desired. 

To  f  rappe  a  bottle  of  wine,  we  stood  it  on  the  porch ; 
in  a  few  minutes  it  would  pour  crystals.  House-keep- 
ing was  easy,  but  keeping  warm  was  difficult. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  law  was  passed 
abolishing  the  post-trader's  store,  and  forbidding  the 
selling  of  whiskey  to  soldiers  on  a  Government  reser- 
vation. The  pleasant  canteen,  or  Post  Exchange,  the 
soldiers'  club-room,  was  established,  where  the  men 
could  go  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  their  lives. 

With  the  abolition  of  whiskey,  the  tone  of  the  post 
improved  greatly;  the  men  were  contented  with  a 
glass  of  beer  or  light  wine,  the  canteen  was  well  man- 
aged, so  the  profits  went  back  into  the  company  messes 
in  the  shape  of  luxuries  heretofore  unknown ;  billiards 
and  reading-rooms  were  established;  and  from  that 
time  on,  the  canteen  came  to  be  regarded  in  the  army 
as  a  most  excellent  institution.  The  men  gained  in 
self-respect;  the  canteen  provided  them  with  a  place 
where  they  could  go  and  take  a  bite  of  lunch,  read, 

259 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

chat,  smoke,  or  play  games  with  their  own  chosen 
friends,  and  escape  the  lonesomeness  of  the  barracks. 

But,  alas !  this  condition  of  things  was  not  destined 
to  endure,  for  the  women  of  the  various  Temperance 
societies,  in  their  mistaken  zeal  and  woful  ignorance 
of  the  soldiers'  life,  succeeded  in  influencing  legisla- 
tion to  such  an  extent  that  the  canteen,  in  its  turn, 
was  abolished ;  with  what  dire  results,  we  of  the  army 
all  know. 

Those  estimable  women  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  thought 
to  do  good  to  the  army,  no  doubt,  but  through  their 
pitiful  ignorance  of  the  soldiers'  needs  they  have 
done  him  an  incalculable  harm. 

Let  them  stay  by  their  lectures  and  their  clubs,  I 
say,  and  their  other  amusements;  let  them  exercise 
their  good  influences  nearer  home,  with  a  class  of 
people  whose  conditions  are  understood  by  them, 
where  they  can,  no  doubt,  do  worlds  of  good. 

They  cannot  know  the  drear  monotony  of  the 
barracks  life  on  the  frontier  in  times  of  peace.  I 
have  lived  close  by  it,  and  I  know  it  well.  A  cease- 
less round  of  drill  and  work  and  lessons,  and  work 
and  lessons  and  drill — no  recreation,  no  excitement, 
no  change. 

Far  away  from  family  and  all  home  companion- 
ship, a  man  longs  for  some  pleasant  place  to  go,  after 
the  day's  work  is  done.  Perhaps  these  women  think 
(if,  in  their  blind  enthusiasm,  they  think  at  all)  that 
a  young  soldier  or  an  old  soldier  needs  no  recreation. 

260 


General  x\ugust  V.  Kautz. 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

At  all  events,  they  have  taken  from  him  the  only- 
one  he  had,  the  good  old  canteen,  and  given  him 
nothing  in  return. 

Now  Fort  Niobrara  was  a  large  post.  There  were 
ten  companies,  cavalry  and  infantry,  General  August 
V.  Kautz,  the  Colonel  of  the  Eighth  Infantry,  in 
command. 

And  here,  amidst  the  sand-hills  of  Nebraska,  we 
first  began  to  really  know  our  Colonel.  A  man  of 
strong  convictions  and  abiding  honesty,  a  soldier  who 
knew  his  profession  thoroughly,  having  not  only 
achieved  distinction  in  the  Civil  War,  but  having 
served  when  little  more  than  a  boy,  in  the  Mexican 
War  of  1846.  Genial  in  his  manners,  brave  and  kind, 
he  was  beloved  by  all. 

The  three  Kautz  children,  Frankie,  Austin,  and 
Navarra,  were  the  inseparable  companions  of  our 
own  children.  There  was  a  small  school  for  the 
children  of  the  post,  and  a  soldier  by  the  name  of 
Delany  was  schoolmaster.  He  tried  hard  to  make 
our  children  learn,  but  they  did  not  wish  to  study, 
and  spent  all  their  spare  time  in  planning  tricks  to 
be  played  upon  poor  Delany.  It  was  a  difficult  situa- 
tion for  the  soldier.  Finally,  the  two  oldest  Kautz 
children  were  sent  East  to  boarding-school,  and  w^e 
also  began  to  realize  that  something  must  be  done. 

Our  surroundings  during  the  early  winter,  it  is 
true,   had  been   dreary   enough,   but  as  the  weather 

261 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

softened  a  bit  and  the  spring  approached,  the  post 
began  to  wake  up. 

In  the  meantime,  Cupid  had  not  been  idle.  It 
was  observed  that  Mr.  Bingham,  our  gracious  host 
of  the  Ninth  Cavalry,  had  fallen  in  love  with  An- 
toinette, the  pretty  and  attractive  daughter  of  Captain 
Lynch  of  our  own  regiment,  and  the  post  began  to 
be  on  the  qui  vive  to  see  how  the  affair  would  end, 
for  nobody  expects  to  see  the  course  of  true  love  run 
smooth.  In  their  case*',  however,  the  Fates  were  kind 
and  in  due  time  the  happy  engagement  was 
announced. 

We  had  an  excellent  amusement  hall,  with  a  fine 
floor  for  dancing.  The  chapel  was  at  one  end,  and  a 
fairly  good  stage  was  at  the  other. 

Being  nearer  civilization  now,  in  the  state  of 
Nebraska,  Uncle  Sam  provided  us  with  a  chaplain, 
and  a  weekly  service  was  held  by  the  Anglican  clergy- 
man— a  tall,  well- formed  man,  a  scholar  and,  as  we 
say,  a  gentleman.  He  wore  the  uniform  of  the  army 
chaplain,  and  as  far  as  looks  went  could  hold  his 
own  with  any  of  the  younger  officers.  And  it  was  a 
great  comfort  to  the  church  people  to  have  this  weekly 
service. 

During  the  rest  of  the  time,  the  chapel  was  con- 
cealed by  heavy  curtains,  and  the  seats  turned  around 
facing  the  stage. 

We  had  a  good  string  orchestra  of  twenty  or  more 
pieces,  and  as  there  were  a  number  of  active  young 

262 


o 

CO 
o 

pq 


a 

o 
cB 

< 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

bachelors  at  the  post,  a  series  of  weekly  dances  was 
inaugurated.  Never  did  I  enjoy  dancing  more  than 
at  this  time. 

Then  Mrs.  Kautz,  who  was  a  thorough  music  lover 
and  had  a  cultivated  taste  as  well  as  a  trained  and 
exquisite  voice,  gave  several  musicales,  for  which 
much  preparation  was  made,  and  which  were  most 
delightful.  These  were  given  at  the  quarters  of  Gen- 
eral Kautz,  a  long,  low,  rambling  one-story  house, 
arranged  with  that  artistic  taste  for  which  Mrs.  Kautz 
was  distinguished. 

Then  came  theatricals,  all  managed  by  Mrs.  Kautz, 
whose  talents  were  versatile. 

We  charged  admission,  for  we  needed  some  more 
scenery,  and  the  neighboring  frontier  town  of  Valen- 
tine came  riding  and  driving  over  the  prairie  and 
across  the  old  bridge  of  the  Niobrara  River,  to  see 
our  plays.  We  had  a  well-lighted  stage.  Our  meth- 
ods were  primitive,  as  there  was  no  gas  or  electricity 
there  in  those  days,  but  the  results  were  good,  and 
the  histrionic  ability  shown  by  some  of  our  young 
men  and  women  seemed  marvellous  to  us. 

I  remember  especially  Bob  Emmet's  acting,  which 
moved  me  to  tears,  in  a  most  pathetic  love  scene.  I 
thought,  "What  has  the  stage  lost,  in  this  gifted 
man!" 

But  he  is  of  a  family  whose  talents  are  well  known, 
and  his  personality,  no  doubt,  added  much  to  his 
natural  ability  as  an  actor. 

263 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Neither  the  army  nor  the  stage  can  now  claim  this 
brilHant  cavalry  officer,  as  he  was  induced,  by  urgent 
family  reasons,  shortly  after  the  period  of  which  I 
am  writing,  to  resign  his  commission  and  retire  to 
private  life,  at  the  very  height  of  his  ambitious 
career. 

And  now  the  summer  came  on  apace.  A  tennis- 
court  was  made,  and  added  greatly  to  our  amusement. 
We  were  in  the  saddle  every  day,  and  the  country 
around  proved  very  attractive  at  this  season,  both  for 
riding  and  driving. 

But  all  this  gayety  did  not  content  me,  for  the 
serious  question  of  education  for  our  children  now 
presented  itself;  the  question  which,  sooner  or  later, 
presents  itself  to  the  minds  of  all  the  parents  of  army 
children.  It  is  settled  differently  by  different  people. 
It  had  taken  a  year  for  us  to  decide. 

I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  first  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  take  the  children  East  and  then  decide  on 
schools  afterwards.  So  our  plans  were  completed 
and  the  day  of  departure  fixed  upon.  Jack  was  to 
remain  at  the  Post. 

About  an  hour  before  I  was  to  leave  I  saw  the 
members  of  the  string  orchestra  filing  across  the 
parade  ground,  coming  directly  towards  our  quarters. 
My  heart  began  to  beat  faster,  as  I  realized  that 
Mrs.  Kautz  had  planned  a  serenade  for  me.  I  felt  it 
was  a  great  break  in  my  army  life,  but  I  did  not  know 
I  was  leaving  the  old  regiment  forever,  the  regiment 

264 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

with  which  I  had  been  associated  for  so  many  years. 
And  as  I  Hstened  to  the  beautiful  strains  of  the  music 
I  loved  so  well,  my  eyes  were  wet  with  tears,  and 
after  all  the  goodbye's  were  said,  to  the  officers  and 
their  wives,  my  friends  who  had  shared  all  our  joys 
and  our  sorrows  in  so  many  places  and  under  so  many 
conditions,  I  ran  out  to  the  stable  and  pressed  my 
cheek  against  the  soft  warm  noses  of  our  two  saddle 
horses.  I  felt  that  life  was  over  for  me,  and  nothing 
but  work  and  care  remained.  I  say  I  felt  all  this. 
It  must  have  been  premonition,  for  I  had  no  idea 
that  I  was  leaving  the  line  of  the  army  forever. 

The  ambulance  was  at  the  door,  to  take  us  to 
Valentine,  where  I  bade  Jack  good  bye,  and  took  the 
train  for  the  East.  His  last  promise  was  to  visit  us 
once  a  year,  or  whenever  he  could  get  a  leave  of 
absence. 

My  husband  had  now  worn  the  single  bar  on  his 
shoulder-strap  for  eleven  years  or  more;  before  that, 
the  straps  of  the  second  lieutenant  had  adorned  his 
broad  shoulders  for  a  period  quite  as  long.  Twenty- 
two  years  a  lieutenant  in  the  regular  army,  after 
fighting,  in  a  volunteer  regiment  of  his  own  state, 
through  the  four  years  of  the  Civil  War!  The 
''gallant  and  meritorious  service"  for  which  he  had 
received  brevets,  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  been  for- 
gotten. He  had  grown  grey  in  Indian  campaigns, 
and  it  looked  as  if  the  frontier  might  always  be  the 
home    of    the    senior    lieutenant  of  the  old  Eighth. 

265 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Promotion  in  that  regiment  had  been  at  a  standstill 
for  years. 

Being  in  Washington  for  a  short  time  towards  mid- 
winter enjoying  the  social  side  of  military  life  at 
the  Capital,  an  opportunity  came  to  me  to  meet 
President  Cleveland,  and  although  his  administration 
was  nearing  its  close,  and  the  stress  of  official  cares 
was  very  great,  he  seemed  to  have  leisure  and  interest 
to  ask  me  about  my  life  on  the  frontier;  and  as  the 
conversation  became  quite  personal,  the  impulse 
seized  me,  to  tell  him  just  how  I  felt  about  the  edu- 
cation of  our  children,  and  then  to  tell  him  what  I 
thought  and  w,hat  others  thought  about  the  unjust 
way  in  which  the  promotions  and  retirements  in  our 
regiment  had  been  managed. 

He  listened  with  the  greatest  interest  and  seemed 
pleased  with  my  frankness.  He  asked  me  what  the 
soldiers  and  officers  out  there  thought  of  "So  and  So." 
'^They  hate  him,"  I  said. 

Whereupon  he  laughed  outright  and  I  knew  I  had 
committed  an  indiscretion,  but  life  on  the  frontier  does 
not  teach  one  diplomacy  of  speech,  and  by  that  time 
I  was  nerved  up  to  say  just  what  I  felt,  regardless 
of  results. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  "I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
interfere  much  with  those  military  matters;"  then, 
pointing  with  his  left  hand  and  thumb  towards  the 
War  Department,  "they  fix  them  all  up  over  there 
in  the  Adjutant  Generars  office,"  he  added. 

266 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

Then  he  asked  me  many  more  questions;  if  I  had 
always  stayed  out  there  with  my  husband,  and  why 
I  did  not  Hve  in  the  East,  as  so  many  army  women 
did;  and  all  the  time  I  could  hear  the  dull  thud  of 
the  carpenters'  hammers,  for  they  were  building  even 
then  the  board  seats  for  the  public  who  would  witness 
the  inaugural  ceremonies  of  his  successor,  and  with 
each  stroke  of  the  hammer,  his  face  seemed  to  grow 
more  sad. 

I  felt  the  greatness  of  the  man;  his  desire  to  be 
just  and  good:  his  marvellous  personal  power,  his 
ability  to  understand  and  to  sympathize,  and  when  I 
parted  from  him  he  said  again  laughingly,  ''Well,  I 
shall  not  forget  your  husband's  regiment,  and  if  any- 
thing turns  up  for  those  fine  men  you  have  told  me 
about,  they  will  hear  from  me/'  And  I  knew  they 
were  the  words  of  a  man,  who  meant  what  he  said. 

In  the  course  of  our  conversation  he  had  asked, 
''Who  are  these  men?  Do  they  ever  come  to  Wash- 
ington? I  rarely  have  these  things  explained  to  me 
and  I  have  little  time  to  interfere  with  the  decisions 
of  the  Adjutant  General's  office." 

I  replied:  "No,  Mr.  President,  they  are  not  the 
men  you  see  around  Washington.  Our  regiment  stays 
on  the  frontier,  and  these  men  are  the  ones  who  do 
the  fighting,  and  you  people  here  in  Washington  are 
apt  to  forget  all  about  them." 

"What  have  they  ever  done?  Were  they  in  the 
Civil  War?"  he  asked. 

267 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

"Their  records  stand  in  black  and  white  in  the 
War  Department,"  I  repHed,  ''if  you  have  the  interest 
to  learn  more  about  them." 

''Women's  opinions  are  influenced  by  their  feelings," 
he  said. 

"Mine  are  based  upon  what  I  know,  and  I  am 
prepared  to  stand  by  my  convictions,"  I  replied. 

Soon  after  this  interview,  I  returned  to  New  York 
and  I  did  not  give  the  matter  very  much  further 
thought,  but  my  impression  of  the  greatness  of  Mr. 
Cleveland  and  of  his  powerful  personahty  has  re- 
mained with  me  to  this  day. 

A  vacancy  occurred  about  this  time  in  the  Quarter- 
master's Department,  and  the  appointment  was  eagerly 
sought  for  by  many  Lieutenants  of  the  army. 
President  Cleveland  saw  fit  to  give  the  appointment 
to  Lieutenant  Summerhayes,  making  him  a  Captain 
and  Quartermaster,  and  then,  another  vacancy  occur- 
ring shortly  after,  he  appointed  Lieutenant  John 
McEwen  Hyde  to  be  also  a  Captain  and  Quarter- 
master. 

Lieutenant  Hyde  stood  next  in  rank  to  my  husband 
and  had  grown  grey  in  the  old  Eighth  Infantry.  So 
the  regiment  came  in  for  its  honor  at  last,  and  General 
Kautz,  when  the  news  of  the  second  appointment 
reached  him,  exclaimed,  "Well !  well !  does  the 
President  think  my  regiment  a  nursery  for  the  Staff  ?" 

The  Eighth  Foot  and  the  Ninth  Horse  at  Niobrara 
gave  the  new  Captain  and  Quartermaster  a  rousing 

268 


John  W.  Summerhayes,  Major  and  Quartermaster.  U.  S.  A 


" 


o 
o 


P!^ 


o 


0 
^ 


o 


O 


FORT  NIOBRARA 

farewell,  for  now  my  husband  was  leaving  his  old 
regiment  forever ;  and,  while  he  appreciated  fully  the 
honor  of  his  new  staff  position,  he  felt  a  sadness  at 
breaking  off  the  associations  of  so  many  years — a 
sadness  which  can  scarcely  be  understood  by  the  young 
officers  of  the  present  day,  who  are  promoted  from 
one  regiment  to  another,  and  rarely  remain  long 
enough  with  one  organization  to  know  even  the  men 
of  their  own  Company. 

There  were  many  champagne  suppers,  dinners  and 
card-parties  given  for  him,  to  make  the  good-bye 
something  to  be  remembered,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
week's  festivities,  he  departed  by  a  night  train  from 
Valentine,  thus  eluding  the  hospitality  of  those 
generous  but  wild  frontiersmen,  who  were  waiting  to 
give  him  what  they  call  out  there  a  ''send-off/' 

For  Valentine  was  like  all  frontier  towns;  a  row 
of  stores  and  saloons.  The  men  who  kept  them  were 
generous,  if  somewhat  rough.  One  of  the  officers  of 
the  post,  having  occasion  to  go  to  the  railroad  station 
one  day  at  Valentine,  saw  the  body  of  a  man  hanging 
to  a  telegraph  pole  a  short  distance  up  the  track.  He 
said  to  the  station  man:  "What  does  that  mean?" 
(nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  telegraph 
pole). 

"Why,  it  means  just  this,"  said  the  station  man, 
"the  people  who  hung  that  man  last  night  had  the 
nerve  to  put  him  right  in  front  of  this  place,  by  G — . 
What  would  the  passengers  think  of  this  town,  sir, 

269 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

as  they  went  by?  Why,  the  reputation  of  Valentine 
would  be  ruined!  Yes,  sir,  we  cut  him  down  and 
moved  him  up  a  pole  or  two.  He  was  a  hard  case, 
though,"  he  added. 

(270) 


00 
00 
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o 


o 


o 
o 


CO 

a 


O 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SANTA    FE 

I  MADE  haste  to  present  Captain  Summerhayes  with 
the  shoulder-straps  of  his  new  rank,  when  he  joined 
me  in  New  York. 

The  orders  for  Santa  Fe  reached  us  in  mid-summer 
at  Nantucket.  I  knew  about  as  much  of  Santa  Fe 
as  the  average  Am  eric?  n  knows,  and  that  was  nothing ; 
but  I  did  know  that  the  Staff  appointment  solved  the 
problem  of  education  for  us  (for  Staff  officers  are 
usually  stationed  in  cities),  and  I  knew  that  our 
frontier  life  was  over.  I  welcomed  the  change,  for 
our  children  were  getting  older,  and  we  were  our- 
selves approaching  the  age  when  comfort  means  more 
to  one  than  it  heretofore  has. 

Jack  obeyed  his  sudden  orders,  and  I  followed  him 
as  soon  as  possible. 

Arriving  at  Santa  Fe  in  the  mellow  sunlight  of  an 
October  day,  we  were  met  by  my  husband  and  an 
officer  of  the  Tenth  Infantry,  and  as  we  drove  into 
the  town,  its  appearance  of  placid  content,  its  ancient 
buildings,  its  great  trees,  its  clear  air,  its  friendly, 
indolent-looking  inhabitants,  gave  me  a  delightful 
feeling  of  home.  A  mysterious  charm  seemed  to  pos- 
sess me.     It  was  the  spell  which  that  old  town  loves 

271 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

to  throw  over  the  strangers  who  venture  off  the  beaten 
track  to  come  within  her  walls. 

Lying  only  eighteen  miles  away,  over  a  small  branch 
road  from  Llamy  (a  station  on  the  Atchison  and 
Topeka  Railroad),  few  people  take  the  trouble  to 
stop  over  to  visit  it.  ''Dead  old  town,"  says  the 
commercial  traveller,  ''nothing  doing  there." 

And  it  is  true. 

But  no  spot  that  I  have  visited  in  this  country  has 
thrown  around  me  the  spell  of  enchantment  which 
held  me  fast  in  that  sleepy  and  historic  town. 

The  Governor's  Palace,  the  old  plaza,  the  ancient 
churches,  the  antiquated  customs,  the  Sisters'  Hos- 
pital, the  old  Convent  of  Our  Lady  of  Loretto,  the 
soft  music  of  the  Spanish  tongue,    I  loved  them  all. 

There  were  no  factories ;  no  noise  was  ever  heard ; 
the  sun  shone  peacefully  on,  through  winter  and 
summer  alike.  There  was  no  cold,  no  heat,  but  a 
delightful  year-around  climate.  Why  the  place  was 
not  crowded  with  health  seekers,  was  a  puzzle  to  me. 
I  had  thought  that  the  bay  of  San  Francisco  offered 
the  most  agreeable  climate  in  Am.erica,  but,  in  the 
Territory  of  New  Mexico,  Santa  Fe  was  the  per- 
fection of  all  climates  combined. 

The  old  city  lies  in  the  broad  valley  of  the  Santa 
Fe  Creek,  but  the  valley  of  the  Santa  Fe  Creek  lies 
seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  level.  I  should 
never  have  known  that  we  were  living  at  a  great 
altitude  if  I  had  not  been  told,  for  the  equable  climate 

2J2 


SANTA  FE 

made  us  forget  to  inquire  about  height  or  depth  or 
distance. 

I  Hstened  to  old  Father  de  Fourri  preach  his  short 
sermons  in  EngHsh  to  the  few  Americans  who  sat  on 
one  side  of  the  aisle,  in  the  church  of  Our  Lady  of 
Guadaloupe;  then,  turning  with  an  easy  gesture 
towards  his  Mexican  congregation,  who  sat  or  knelt 
near  the  sanctuary,  and  saying,  ''Hermanos  mios/' 
he  gave  the  same  discourse  in  good  Spanish.  I  felt 
comfortable  in  the  thought  that  I  was  improving  my 
Spanish  as  well  as  profiting  by  Father  de  Fourri's 
sound  logic.  This  good  priest  had  grown  old  at  Santa 
Fe  in  the  service  of  his  church. 

The  Mexican  women,  with  their  black  ribosos 
wound  around  their  heads  and  concealing  their  faces, 
knelt  during  the  entire  mass,  and  made  many  long 
responses  in  Latin. 

After  years  spent  in  a  heathenish  manner,  as  re- 
gards all  chui  :h  observations,  this  devout  and  unique 
service,  following  the  customs  of  ancient  Spain,  was 
interesting  to  me  in  the  extreme. 

Sometimes  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  I  attended  Ves- 
pers in  the  chapel  of  the  Sisters'  Hospital  (as  it  was 
called).  A  fine  Sanitarium,  managed  entirely  by  the 
Roman  Catholic  Sisters  of  Charity. 

Sister  Victoria,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  man- 
agement, was  not  only  a  very  beautiful  woman,  but 
she  had  an  agreeable  voice  and  always  led  in  the 
singing. 

273 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

It  seemed  like  Heaven. 

I  wrote  to  my  friends  in  the  East  to  come  to  the 
Sisters'  Hospital  if  they  wanted  health,  peace  and 
happiness,  for  it  was  surely  to  be  found  there. 
I  visited  the  convent  of  Our  Lady  of  Loretto:  I 
stood  before  a  high  wall  in  an  embrasure  of  which 
there  was  a  low  wooden  gate;  I  pulled  on  a  small 
knotted  string  which  hung  out  of  a  little  hole,  and  a 
queer  old  bell  rang.  Then  one  of  the  nuns  came  and 
let  me  in,  across  a  beautiful  garden  to  the  convent 
school.  I  placed  my  little  daughter  as  a  day  pupil 
there,  as  she  was  now  eleven  years  old.  The  nuns 
spoke  very  little  English  and  the  children  none  at  all. 

The  entire  city  was  ancient,  Spanish,  Catholic, 
steeped  in  a  religious  atmosphere  and  in  what  the 
average  American  Protestant  would  call  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  dark  ages.  There  were  endless  fiestas, 
and  processions  and  religious  services,  I  saw  them  all 
and  became  much  interested  in  reading  the  history  of 
the  Catholic  missions,  established  so  early  out  through 
what  was  then  a  wild  and  unexplored  country.  After 
that,  I  listened  with  renewed  interest  to  old  Father  de 
Fouri,  who  had  tended  and  led  his  flock  of  simple 
people  so  long  and  so  lovingly. 

There  was  a  large  painting  of  Our  Lady  of  Guada- 
loupe  over  the  altar — these  people  firmly  believed  that 
she  had  appeared  to  them,  on  the  earth,  and  so 
strong  was  the  influence  around  me  that  I  began 
almost  to  believe  it  too.     I  never  missed  the  Sunday 

274 


SANTA  FE 

morning  mass,  and  I  fell  in  easily  with  the  religious 
observances. 

I  read  and  studied  about  the  old  explorers,  and  I 
seemed  to  live  in  the  time  of  Cortez  and  his  brave 
band.  I  became  acquainted  with  Adolf  Bandelier, 
who  had  lived  for  years  in  that  country,  engaged  in 
research  for  the  American  Archaeological  Society.  I 
visited  the  Indian  pueblos,  those  marvellous  structures 
of  adobe,  where  live  entire  tribes,  and  saw  natives 
who  have  not  changed  their  manner  of  speech  of 
dress  since  the  days  when  the  Spaniards  first  pene- 
trated to  their  curious  dwellings,  three  hundred  or 
more  years  ago.  I  climbed  the  rickety  ladders,  by 
which  one  enters  these  strange  dwellings,  and  bought 
the  great  bowls  which  these  Indians  shape  in  some 
then  bake  in  their  mud  ovens, 
manner  without  the  assistance  of  a  potter's  wheel,  and 

The  pueblo  of  Tesiique  is  only  nine  miles  from 
Santa  Fe,  and  a  pleasant  drive,  at  that;  it  seemed 
strange  to  me  that  the  road  was  not  lined  with 
tourists.  But  no,  they  pass  all  these  wonders  by,  in 
their  disinclination  to  go  oflf  the  beaten  track. 

Visiting  the  pueblos  gets  to  be  a  craze.  Governor 
and  Mrs.  Prince  knew  them  all — the  pueblo  of  Taos, 
of  Santa  Clara,  San  Juan,  and  others;  and  the  Gov- 
ernor's collection  of  great  stone  idols  was  a  marvel 
indeed.  He  kept  them  laid  out  on  shelves,  which 
resembled  the  bunks  on  a  great  vessel,  and  in  an 
apartment  especially  reserved  for  them,  in  his  resi- 

275 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

dence  at  Santa  Fe,  and  it  was  always  with  consider- 
able awe  that  I  entered  that  apartment.  The 
Governor  occupied  at  that  time  a  low,  rambling  adobe 
house,  on  Palace  Avenue,  and  this,  with  its  thick  walls 
and  low  window-seats,  made  a  fit  setting  for  the 
treasures  they  had  gathered. 

Later  on,  the  Governor's  family  occupied  the  palace 
(as  it  is  always  called)  of  the  old  Spanish  Viceroy,  a 
most  ancient,  picturesque,  yet  dignified  building,  fac- 
ing the  plaza. 

The  various  apartments  in  this  old  palace  were  used 
for  Government  offices  when  we  were  stationed  there 
in  1889,  and  in  one  of  these  rooms.  General  Lew  Wal- 
lace, a  few  years  before,  had  written  his  famous  book, 
"Ben  Hur." 

On  the  walls  were  hanging  old  portraits  painted  by 
the  Spaniards  in  the  sixteenth  century.  They  were 
done  on  rawhide,  and  whether  these  interesting  and 
historic  pictures  have  been  preserved  by  our  Govern- 
ment I  do  not  know. 

The  distinguished  Anglican  clergyman  living  there 
taught  a  small  class  of  boys,  and  the  "Academy,"  an 
excellent  school  established  by  the  Presbyterian  Board 
of  Missions,  afforded  good  advantages  for  the  young 
girls  of  the  garrison.  And  as  we  had  found  that  the 
Convent  of  Loretto  was  not  just  adapted  to  the  educa- 
tion of  an  American  child,  we  withdrew  Katharine 
from  that  school  and  placed  her  at  the  Presbyterian 
Academy. 

276 


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SANTA  FE 

To  be  sure,  the  young  woman  teacher  gave  a  rousing 
lecture  on  total  abstinence  once  a  week ;  going  even  so 
far  as  to  say,  that  to  partake  of  apple  sauce  which 
had  begun  to  ferment  was  yielding  to  the  temptations 
of  Satan.  The  young  woman's  arguments  made  a 
disastrous  impression  upon  our  children's  minds;  so 
much  so,  that  the  rich  German  Jews  whose  daughters 
attended  the  school  complained  greatly;  for,  as  they 
told  us^  these  girls  would  hasten  to  snatch  the  de- 
canters from  the  sideboard,  at  the  approach  of  visitors, 
and  hide  them,  and  they  began  to  sit  in  judgment  upon 
their  elders.  Now  these  men  were  among  the  leading 
citizens  of  the  town;  they  were  self-respecting  and 
wealthy.  They  could  not  stand  these  extreme  doc- 
trines, so  opposed  to  their  life  and  their  traditions. 
We  informed  Miss  X.  one  day  that  she  could  excuse 
our  children  from  the  total  abstinence  lecture,  or 
we  should  be  compelled  to  withdraw  them  from  the 
school.  She  said  she  could  not  compel  them  to  listen, 
but  preach  she  must.  She  remained  obedient  to  her 
orders  from  the  Board,  and  we  could  but  respect  her 
for  that.  Our  young  daughters  were,  however, 
excused  from  the  lecture. 

But  our  time  was  not  entirely  given  up  to  the  study 
of  ancient  pottery,  for  the  social  life  there  was  delight- 
ful. The  garrison  was  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
the  houses  were  comfortable,  and  the  streets  shaded 
by  old  trees.  The  Tenth  Infantry  had  its  headquar- 
ters and  two  companies  there.     Every  afternoon,  the 

^77 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

military  band  played  in  the  Plaza,  where  everybody 
went  and  sat  on  benches  in  the  shade  of  the  old  trees, 
or,  if  cool,  in  the  delightful  sunshine.  The  pretty 
and  well-dressed  senoritas  cast  shy  glances  at  the 
young  officers  of  the  Tenth ;  but,  alas !  the  handsome 
and  attractive  Lieutenants  Van  Vliet  and  Seyburn, 
and  the  more  sedate  Lieutenant  Plummer,  could  not 
return  these  bewitching  glances,  as  they  were  all 
settled  in  life. 

The  two  former  officers  had  married  in  Detroit, 
and  both  Mrs.  Van  Vliet  and  Mrs.  Seyburn  did  honor 
to  the  beautiful  city  of  Michigan,  for  they  were  most 
agreeable  and  clever  women,  and  presided  over  their 
army  homes  with  distinguished  grace  and  hospitality. 

The  Americans  who  lived  there  were  all  professional 
people;  mostly  lawyers,  and  a  few  bankers.  I  could 
not  understand  why  so  many  Eastern  lawyers  lived 
there.  I  afterwards  learned  that  the  old  Spanish 
land  grants  had  given  rise  to  illimitable  and  never- 
ending  litigation. 

Every  morning  we  rode  across  country.  There 
were  no  fences,  but  the  wide  irrigation  ditches  gave 
us  a  plenty  of  excitement,  and  the  riding  was  glorious. 
I  had  no  occasion  yet  to  realize  that  we  had  left  the 
line  of  the  army. 

A  camping  trip  to  the  head-waters  of  the  Pecos, 
where  we  caught  speckled  trout  in  great  abundance  in 
the  foaming  riffles  and  shallow  pools  of  this  rushing 
mountain  stream,  remaining  in  camp  a  week  under 

278 


00 
00 


CO 


s 


o 

O 


SANTA  FE 

the  spreading  boughs  of  the  mighty  pines,  added  to 
the  variety  and  deHghts  of  our  Hfe  there. 

With  such  an  existence  as  this,  good  health  and 
diversion,  the  time  passed  rapidly  by. 

It  was  against  the  law  now  for  soldiers  to  marry; 
the  old  days  of  ^'laundresses''  had  passed  away. 
But  the  trombone  player  of  the  Tenth  Infantry 
band  (a  young  Boston  boy)  had  married  a  wife,  and 
now  a  baby  had  come  to  them.  They  could  get  no 
quarters,  so  we  took  the  family  in,  and,  as  the  wife 
was  an  excellent  cook,  we  were  able  to  give  many 
small  dinners.  The  walls  of  the  house  being  three  feet 
thick,  we  were  never  troubled  by  the  trombone  prac- 
tice or  the  infant's  cries.  And  many  a  delightful  eve- 
ning we  had  around  the  board,  with  Father  de  Fourri, 
Rev.  Mr.  Meany  (the  Anglican  clergyman),  the  offi- 
cers and  ladies  of  the  Tenth,  Governor  and  Mrs. 
Prince,  and  the  brilliant  lawyer  folk  of  Santa  Fe. 

Such  an  ideal  life  cannot  last  long;  this  existence 
of  ours  does  not  seem  to  be  contrived  on  those  lines. 
At  the  end  of  a  year,  orders  came  for  Texas,  and 
perhaps  it  was  well  that  orders  came,  or  we  might 
be  in  Santa  Fe  to-day,  wrapt  in  a  dream  of  past  ages ; 
for  the  city  of  the  Holy  Faith  had  bound  us  with 
invisible  chains. 

With  our  departure  from  Santa  Fe,  all  picturesque- 
ness  came  to  an  end  in  our  army  life.  Ever  after 
that,  we  had  really  good  houses  to  live  in,  which  had 
all  modern  arrangements ;  we  had  beautiful,  well-kept 

^79 


SANTA  FE 

lawns  and  gardens,  the  same  sort  of  domestic  service 
that  civiHans  have,  and  Hved  almost  the  same  life. 

(280) 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

TDXAS 

Whenever  I  think  of  San  Antonio  and  Fort  Sam 
Houston,  the  perfume  of  the  wood  violet  which  blos- 
somed in  mid-winter  along  the  borders  of  our  lawn, 
and  the  delicate  odor  of  the  Cape  jessamine,  seem  to 
be  wafted  about  me. 

Fort  Sam  Houston  is  the  Headquarters  of  the  De- 
partment of  Texas,  and  all  the  Staff  officers  live  there, 
in  comfortable  stone  houses,  with  broad  lawns  shaded 
by  chinaberry  trees.  Then  at  the  top  of  the  hill  is 
a  great  quadrangle,  with  a  clock  tower  and  all  the 
department  offices.  On  the  other  side  of  this  quad- 
rangle is  the  post,  where  the  line  officers  live. 

General  Stanley  commanded  the  Department.  A 
fine,  dignified  and  able  man,  with  a  great  record  as  an 
Indian  fighter.  Jack  knew  him  well,  as  he  had  been 
with  him  in  the  first  preliminary  survey  for  the 
northern  Pacific  Railroad,  when  he  drove  old  Sitting 
Bull  back  to  the  Powder  River. 

He  was  now  about  to  reach  the  age  of  retirement; 
and  as  the  day  approached,  that  day  when  a  man  has 
reached  the  limit  of  his  usefulness  (in  the  opinion  of 
an  ever-wise  Government),  that  day  which  sounds  the 
knell  of  active  service,  that  day  so  dreaded  and  yet  so 
longed  for,  that  day  when  an  army  officer  is  sixty-four 

281 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

years  old  and  Uncle  Sam  lays  him  upon  the  shelf,  as 
that  day  approached,  the  city  of  San  Antonio,  in  fact 
the  entire  State  of  Texas  poured  forth  to  bid  him  God- 
speed; for  if  ever  an  army  man  was  beloved,  it  was 
General  Stanley  by  the  State  of  Texas. 

Now  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  quadrangle  lay 
the  post,  where  were  the  soldiers'  barracks  and  quar- 
ters of  the  line  officers.  This  was  commanded  by 
Colonel  Coppinger,  a  gallant  officer,  who  had  fought 
in  many  wars  in  many  countries. 

He  had  his  famous  regiment,  the  Twenty-third 
Infantry,  and  many  were  the  pleasant  dances  and 
theatricals  we  had,  with  the  music  furnished  by  their 
band ;  for,  as  it  was  a  time  of  peace,  the  troops  were 
all  in  garrison. 

Major  Burbank  was  there  also,  with  his  well-drilled 
Light  Battery  of  the  3rd  Artillery. 

My  husband,  being  a  Captain  and  Quartermaster, 
served  directly  under  General  George  H.  Weeks,  who 
was  Chief  Quartermaster  of  the  Department,  and  I 
can  never  forget  his  kindness  to  us  both.  He  was  one 
of  the  best  men  I  ever  knew,  in  the  army  or  out  of  it, 
and  came  to  be  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  He  pos- 
sessed the  sturdy  qualities  of  his  Puritan  ancestry, 
united  with  the  charming  manners  of  an  aristocrat. 

We  belonged,  of  course,  now,  with  the  Stafif,  and 
something,  an  intangible  something,  seemed  to  have 
gone  out  of  the  life.  The  officers  were  all  older,  and 
the  Staff  uniforms  were  more  sombre.     I  missed  the 

282 


TEXAS 

white  stripe  of  the  infantry,  and  the  yellow  of  the 
cavalry.  The  shoulder-straps  all  had  gold  eagles  or 
leaves  on  them,  instead  of  the  Captains'  or  Lieuten- 
ants' bars.  Many  of  the  Staff  officers  wore  civilians' 
clothes,  which  distressed  me  much,  and  I  used  to  tell 
them  that  if  I  were  Secretary  of  War  they  would  not 
be  permitted  to  go  about  in  black  alpaca  coats  and 
cinnamon-brown  trousers. 

''What  would  you  have  us  do?"  said  General 
Weeks. 

''Wear  white  duck  and  brass  buttons,"  I  replied. 

"Fol-de-rol !"  said  the  fine-looking  and  erect  Chief 
Quartermaster ;  "you  would  have  us  be  as  vain  as  we 
were  when  we  were  Lieutenants?" 

''You  can  afford  to  be,"  I  answered ;  for,  even  with 
his  threescore  years,  he  had  retained  the  lines  of 
youth,  and  was,  in  my  opinion,  the  finest  looking  man 
in  the  Staff  of  the  Army. 

But  all  my  reproaches  and  all  my  diplomacy  were 
of  no  avail  in  reforming  the  Staff.  Evidently  com- 
fort and  not  looks  was  their  motto. 

One  day,  I  accidentally  caught  a  side  view  of  myself 
in  a  long  mirror  (long  mirrors  had  not  been  very 
plentiful  on  the  frontier),  and  was  appalled  by  the 
fact  that  my  own  lines  corresponded  but  too  well, 
alas  !  with  those  of  the  Staff.  Ah,  me  !  were  the  days, 
then,  of  Lieutenants  forever  past  and  gone?  The 
days  of  suppleness  and  youth,  the  careless  gay  days, 
when  there  was  no  thought  for  the  future,  no  anxiety 

283 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

about  education,  when  the  day  began  with  a  wild 
dash  across  country  and  ended  with  a  dinner  and 
dance — were  they  over,  then,  for  us  all? 

Major  Burbank's  battery  of  light  artillery  came 
over  and  enlivened  the  quiet  of  our  post  occasionally 
with  their  brilliant  red  color.  At  those  times,  we 
all  went  out  and  stood  in  the  music  pavilion  to  watch 
the  drill ;  and  when  his  horses  and  guns  and  caissons 
thundered  down  the  hill  and  swept  by  us  at  a  terrific 
gallop,  our  hearts  stood  still.  Even  the  dignified 
Staff  permitted  themselves  a  thrill,  and  as  for  us 
women,  our  excitement  knew  no  bounds. 

The  brilliant  red  of  the  artillery  brought  color  to 
the  rather  grey  aspect  of  the  quiet  Headquarters  post, 
and  the  magnificent  drill  supplied  the  martial  element 
so  dear  to  a  woman's  heart. 

In  San  Antonio,  the  New  has  almost  obliterated  the 
Old,  and  little  remains  except  its  pretty  green  river, 
its  picturesque  bridges,  and  the  historic  Alamo,  to 
mark  it  from  other  cities  in  the  Southwest. 

In  the  late  afternoon,  everybody  drove  to  the  Plaza, 
where  all  the  country  people  were  selling  their  garden- 
stuff  and  poultry  in  the  open  square.  This  was 
charming,  and  we  all  bought  live  fowl  and  drove  home 
again. .  One  heard  cackling  and  gobbling  from  the 
smart  traps  and  victorias,  and  it  seemed  to  be  a  sur- 
vival of  an  old  custom.  The  whole  town  took  a  drive 
after  that,  and  supped  at  eight  o'clock. 

The  San  Antonio  people  believe  there  is  no  climate 
284 


TEXAS 

to  equal  theirs,  and  talk  much  about  the  cool  breezes 
from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  which  is  some  miles  away. 
But  I  found  seven  months  of  the  twelve  too  hot  for 
comfort,  and  I  could  never  detect  much  coolness  in 
the  summer  breezes. 

After  I  settled  down  to  the  sedateness  which  is 
supposed  to  belong  to  the  Staff,  I  began  to  enjoy  life 
very  much.  There  is  compensation  for  every  loss, 
and  I  found,  with  the  new  friends,  many  of  whom  had 
lived  their  lives,  and  had  known  sorrow  and  joy,  a 
true  companionship  which  enriched  my  life,  and  filled 
the  days  with  gladness. 

My  son  had  completed  the  High  School  course  in 
San  Antonio,  under  an  able  German  master,  and  had 
been  sent  East  to  prepare  for  the  Stevens  Institute 
of  Technology,  and  in  the  following  spring  I  took  my 
daughter  Katharine  and  fled  from  the  dreaded  heat 
of  a  Texas  summer.  Never  can  I  forget  the  child's 
grief  on  parting  from  her  Texas  pony.  She  extorted 
a  solemn  promise  from  her  father,  who  was  obliged  to 
stay  in  Texas,  that  he  would  never  part  with  him. 

My  brother,  then  unmarried,  and  my  sister  Harriet 
were  living  together  in  New  Rochelle  and  to  them 
we  went.  Harry's  vacation  enabled  him  to  be  with 
us,  and  we  had  a  delightful  summer.  It  was  good  to 
be  on  the  shores  of  Long  Island  Sound. 

In  the  autumn,  not  knowing  what  next  was  in  store 
for  us,  I  placed  my  dear  little  Katharine  at  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Sacred  Heart  at  Kenwood  on  the  Hudson, 

285 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

that  she  might  be  able  to  complete  her  education  in 
one  place,  and  in  the  care  of  those  lovely,  gentle  and 
refined  ladies  of  that  order. 

Shortly  after  that,  Captain  Jack  was  ordered  to 
David's  Island,  New  York  Harbor  (now  called  Fort 
Slocum),  where  we  spent  four  happy  and  uninter- 
rupted years,  in  the  most  constant  intercourse  with 
my  dear  brother  and  sister. 

Old  friends  were  coming  and  going  all  the  time, 
and  it  seemed  so  good  to  us  to  be  living  in  a  place 
where  this  was  possible. 

Captain  Summerhayes  was  constructing  officer  and 
had  a  busy  life,  with  all  the  various  sorts  of  building 
to  be  done  there. 

David's  Island  was  then  an  Artillery  Post,  and 
there  were  several  batteries  stationed  there.  (After- 
wards it  became  a  recruiting  station.)  The  garrison 
was  often  entirely  changed.  At  one  time.  General 
Henry  C.  Cook  was  in  command.  He  and  his  charm- 
ing Southern  wife  added  so  much  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  post.  Then  came  our  old  friends  the  Van  Vliets 
of  Santa  Fe  days;  and  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Valery  Havard, 
who  are  so  well  known  in  the  army,  and  then  Colonel 
Carl  Woodruff  and  Mrs.  Woodrufif,  whom  we  all  liked 
so  much,  and  dear  Doctor  Julian  Cabell,  and  others, 
who  completed  a  delightful  garrison. 

And  we  had  a  series  of  informal  dances  and  invited 
the  distinguished  members  of  the  artist  colony  from 
New  Rochelle,  and  it  was  at  one  of  these  dances  that 

286 


TEXAS 

I  first  met  Frederic  Remington.  I  had  long  admirea 
his  work  and  had  been  most  anxious  to  meet  him. 
As  a  rule,  Frederic  did  not  attend  any  social  func- 
tions, but  he  loved  the  army,  and  as  Mrs.  Remington 
was  fond  of  social  life,  they  were  both  present  at 
our  first  little  invitation  dance. 

About  the  middle  of  the  evening  I  noticed  Mr. 
Remington  sitting  alone  and  I  crossed  the  hall  and 
sat  down  beside  him.  I  then  told  him  how  much 
I  had  loved  his  work  and  how  it  appealed  to  all 
army  folks,  and  how  glad  I  was  to  know  him,  and 
I  suppose  I  said  many  other  things  such  as  literary 
men  and  painters  and  players  often  have  to  hear  from 
enthusiastic  women  like  myself.  However,  Frederic 
seemed  pleased,  and  made  some  modest  little  speech 
and  then  fell  into  an  abstracted  silence,  gazing  on 
the  great  flag  which  was  stretched  across  the  hall  at 
one  end,  and  from  behind  which  some  few  soldiers 
who  were  going  to  assist  in  serving  the  supper  were 
passing  in  and  out.  I  fell  in  with  his  mood  imme- 
diately, as  he  was  a  person  with  whom  formality 
was  impossible,  and  said:  "What  are  you  looking 
at,  Mr.  Remington?''  He  replied,  turning  upon  me 
his  round  boyish  face  and  his  blue  eyes  gladdening, 
"I  was  just  thinking  I  wished  I  was  behind  in  there 
where  those  blue  jackets  are — you  know — behind  that 
flag  with  the  soldiers — those  are  the  men  I  like  to 
study,  you  know,  I  don't  like  all  this  fuss  and  feathers 
of  society" — then,  blushing  at  his  lack  of  gallantry, 

^87 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

he  added:  ''It's  all  right,  of  course,  pretty  women 
and  all  that,  and  I  suppose  you  think  Fm  dreadful 
and — do  you  want  me  to  dance  with  you — that's  the 
proper  thing  here — isn't  it?"  Whereupon,  he  seized 
me  in  his  great  arms  and  whirled  me  around  at  a 
pace  I  never  dreamed  of,  and,  once  around,  he  said, 
''that's  enough  of  this  thing,  isn't  it,  let's  sit  down, 
I  believe  I'm  going  to  like  you,  though  I'm  not  much 
for  women."  I  said  "You  must  come  over  here 
often;"  and  he  replied,  "You've  got  a  lot  of  jolly 
good  fellows  over  here  and  I  will  do  it." 

Afterwards,  the  Remingtons  and  ourselves  became 
the  closest  friends.  Mrs.  Remington's  maiden  name 
was  Eva  Caton,  and  after  the  first  few  meetings,  she 
became  "little  Eva"  to  me — and  if  ever  there  was  an 
embodiment  of  that  gentle  lovdy  name  and  what  it 
implies,  it  is  this  woman,  the  wife  of  the  great  artist, 
who  has  stood  by  him  through  all  the  reverses  of  his 
early  life  and  been,  in  every  sense,  his  guiding  star. 

And  now  began  visits  to  the  studio,  a  great  room 
he  had  built  on  to  his  house  at  New  Rochelle.  It 
had  an  enormous  fire  place  where  great  logs  were 
burned,  and  the  walls  were  hung  with  the  most  rare 
and  wonderful  Indian  curios.  There  he  did  all  the 
painting  which  has  made  him  famous  in  the  last 
twenty  years,  and  all  the  modelling  which  has  already 
become  so  well  known  and  would  have  eventually 
made  him  a  name  as  a  great  sculptor.  He  always 
worked  steadily  until  three  o'clock  and  then  there  was 

288 


B      '      >       °       3  ^      J    i 


Frederic  Remington  and  Jack  Summerhayes  on  a 
shooting  trip  in  Mexico.  Showing  the  Army  "Ambu- 
lance." 


TEXAS 

a  walk  or  game  of  tennis  or  a  ride.  After  dinner, 
delightful  evenings  in  the  studio. 

Frederic  was  a  student  and  a  deep  thinker.  He 
liked  to  solve  all  questions  for  himself  and  did  not 
accept  readily  other  men's  theories.  He  thought 
much  on  religious  subjects  and  the  future  life,  and 
liked  to  compare  the  Christian  religion  with  the  re- 
ligions of  Eastern  countries,  weighing  them  one 
against  the  other  with  fairness  and  clear  logic. 

And  so  we  sat,  many  evenings  into  the  night,  Fred- 
eric and  Jack  stretched  in  their  big  leather  chairs 
puffing  away  at  their  pipes,  Eva  with  her  needlework, 
and  myself  a  rapt  listener:  wondering  at  this  man 
of  genius,  who  could  work  with  his  creative  brush 
all  day  long  and  talk  with  the  eloquence  of  a  learned 
Doctor  of  Divinity  half  the  night. 

During  the  time  we  were  stationed  at  Davids 
Island,  Mr.  Remington  and  Jack  made  a  trip  to  the 
Southwest,  where  they  shot  the  peccary  (wild  hog) 
in  Texas  and  afterwards  blue  quail  and  other  game 
in  Mexico.  Artist  and  soldier,  they  got  on  famously 
together  notwithstanding  the  difference  in  their  ages. 

And  now  he  was  going  to  try  his  hand  at  a  novel, 
a  real  romance.  We  talked  a  good  deal  about  the 
little  Indian  boy,  and  I  got  to  love  White  Weasel 
long  before  he  appeared  in  print  as  John  Ermine. 
The  book  came  out  after  we  had  left  New  Rochelle — 
but  I  received  a  copy  from  him,  and  wrote  him  my 
ooinion  of  it,  which  was  one  of  unstinted  praise.     But 

289 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 


it  did  not  surprise  me  to  learn  that  he  did  not  con- 
sider it  a  success  from  a  financial  point  of  view. 

"You  see/'  he  said  a  year  afterwards,  ''that  sort 
of  thing  does  not  interest  the  public.  What  they 
want/' — here  he  began  to  mimic  some  funny  old  East 
Side  person,  and  both  hands  gesticulating  —  ''is  a 
back  yard  and  a  cabbage  patch  and  a  cook  stove  and 
babies'  clothes  drying  beside  it,  you  see,  Mattie,"  he 
said.  "They  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  the 
Indian  or  the  half-breed,  or  what  he  thinks  or  be- 
lieves/' And  then  he  went  off  into  one  of  his  irresisti- 
ble tirades  combining  ridicule  and  abuse  of  the  reading 
public,  in  language  such  as  only  Frederic  Remington 
could  use  before  women  and  still  retain  his  dignity. 
"Well,  Frederic,"  I  said,  "I  will  try  to  recollect  that, 
when  I  write  my  experiences  of  Army  Life." 

In  writing  him  my  opinion  of  his  book  the  year 
before,  I  had  said,  "In  fact,  I  am  in  love  with  John 
Ermine."  The  following  Christmas  he  sent  me  the 
accompanying  card. 


TEXAS 

Now  the  book  was  dramatized  and  produced,  with 
Hackett  as  John  Ermine,  at  the  Globe  Theatre  in 
September  of  1902 — the  hottest  weather  ever  on  rec- 
ord in  Boston  at  that  season.  Of  course  seats  were 
reserved  for  us;  we  were  Hving  at  Nantucket  that 
year,  and  we  set  sail  at  noon  to  see  the  great  pro- 
duction. We  snatched  a  bite  of  supper  at  a  near-by 
hotel  in  Boston  and  hurried  to  the  theatre,  but  being 
late,  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  our  seats. 

The  curtain  was  up  and  there  sat  Hackett,  not 
with  long  yellow  hair  (which  was  the  salient  point 
in  the  half-breed  scout)  but  rather  well-groomed, 
looking  more  like  a  parlor  Indian  than  a  real  live 
half-breed,  such  as  all  we  army  people  knew.  I 
thought  "this  will  never  do.'' 

The  house  was  full,  Hackett  did  the  part  well,  and 
the  audience  murmured  on  going  out:  ''a  very  ar- 
tistic success."  But  the  play  was  too  mystical,  too  sad. 
It  would  have  suited  the  ''New  Theatre"  patrons 
better.  I  wrote  him  from  Nantucket  and  criticized 
one  or  two  minor  points,  such  as  the  1850  riding 
habits  of  the  women,  which  were  slouchy  and  un- 
becoming and  made  the  army  people  look  like  poor 
emigrants  and  I  received  this  letter  in  reply: 

Webster  avenue. 
New  Rochei^IvE,  N.  Y. 
My  dear  Mrs.  S., 

Much  obliged  for  your  talk — it  is  just  what  we  want 
— proper  impressions. 

291 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

I  fought  for  that  long  hair  but  the  management 
said  the  audience  has  got  to  have  some  Hackett — 
why  I  could  not  see— but  he  is  a  matinee  idol  and  that 
long  with  the  box  office. 

We'll  dress  Katherine  up  better. 

The  long  rehearsals  at  night  nearly  killed  me — I 
was  completely  done  up  and  came  home  on  train 
Monday  in  that  terrific  heat  and  now  I  am  in  the 
hands  of  a  doctor.    Imagine  me  a  week  without  sleep. 

Hope  that  fight  took  Jack  back  to  his  youth.  For 
the  stage  I  don't  think  it  was  bad.  We'll  get  grey 
shirts  on  their  men  later. 

The  old  lady  arrives  to-day — she  has  been  in 
Gloversville. 

I  think  the  play  will  go — but  we  may  have  to  save 
Ermine.  The  public  is  a  funny  old  cat  and  won't 
stand  for  the  mustard. 

Well,  glad  you  had  a  good  time  and  of  course  you 
can't  charge  me  up  with  the  heat. 

Yours, 

Frede:rick  R. 

Remington  made  a  trip  to  the  Yellowstone  Park 
and  this  is  what  he  wrote  to  Jack.  His  letters  were 
never  dated. 

My  dear  Summerhayes: 

Say  if  you  could  get  a  few  pufifs  of  this  cold  air 
out  here  you  would  think  you  were  full  of  champagne 
water.     I  feel  like  a  d —  kid — 

292 


TEXAS 

I  thought  I  should  never  be  young  again — but  here 
I  am  only  14  years  old — my  whiskers  are  falling  out. 

Capt.  Brown  of  the  ist  cav.  wishes  to  be  remem- 
bered to  you  both.  He  is  Park  Superintendent.  Says 
if  you  will  come  out  here  he  will  take  care  of  you  and 
he  would. 

Am  painting  and  doing  some  good  work.  Made  a 
''govt,  six"  yesterday. 


fjkfjt  ^h^i^  Si^^ 


293 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

In  the  course  of  time,  he  bought  an  Island  in  the 
St.  Lawrence  and  they  spent  several  summers  there. 

On  the  occasion  of  my  husband  accepting  a  detail 
in  active  service  in  Washington  at  the  Soldiers'  Home, 
after  his  retirement,  he  received  the  following  letter. 

IngIvE:nkuk,  Chippewa  Bay,  N.  Y. 
My  dear  Jack — 

So  there  you  are — and  I'm  d —  glad  you  are  so 
nicely  fixed.  It's  the  least  they  could  do  for  you 
and  you  ought  to  be  able  to  enjoy  it  for  ten  years 
before  they  find  any  spavins  on  you  if  you  will 
behave  yourself,  but  I  guess  you  will  drift  into  that 
Army  and  Navy  Club  and  round  up  with  a  lot  of  those 
old  alkalied  prairie-dogs  whom  neither  Indians  nor 
whiskey  could  kill  and  Mr.  Gout  will  take  you  over 
his  route  to  Arlington. 

I'm  on  the  water  wagon  and  I  feel  like  a  young 
mule.  I  am  never  going  to  get  down  again  to  try  the 
walking.  If  I  lose  my  whip  I  am  going  to  drive 
right  on  and  leave  it. 

We  are  having  a  fine  summer  and  I  may  run  over 
to  Washington  this  winter  and  throw  my  eye  over 
you  to  see  how  you  go.  We  made  a  trip  down  to 
New  Foundland  but  saw  nothing  worth  while.  I  guess 
I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  swat — I  can't  see  anything 
that  didn't  happen  twenty  years  ago, 

Y— 
Frederick  R. 

294 


TEXAS 

At  the  close  of  the  year  just  gone,  this  great  soul 
passed  from  the  earth  leaving  a  blank  in  our  lives 
that  nothing  can  ever  fill.  Passed  into  the  great 
Beyond  whose  mysteries  were  always  troubling  his 
mind.  Suddenly  and  swiftly  the  call  came — the  hand 
was  stilled  and  the  restless  spirit  took  its  flight. 

(295) 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
David's  isi^and 

At  Davids'  Island  the  four  happiest  years  of  my 
army  Hfe  ghded  swiftly  away. 

There  was  a  small  steam  tug  which  made  regular 
and  frequent  trips  over  to  New  Rochelle  and  we  en- 
joyed our  intercourse  with  the  artists  and  players 
who  lived  there. 

Zogbaum,  whose  well  known  pictures  of  sailors  and 
warships  and  soldiers  had  reached  us  even  in  the 
far  West,  and  whose  charming  family  added  so  much 
to  our  pleasure. 

Julian  Hawthorne  with  his  daughter  Hildegarde, 
now  so  well  known  as  a  literary  critic ;  Henry  Loomis 
Nelson,  whose  fair  daughter  Margaret  came  to  our 
little  dances  and  promptly  fell  in  love  with  a  young, 
slim,  straight  Artillery  officer.  A  case  of  love  at  first 
sight,  followed  by  a  short  courtship  and  a  beautiful 
little  country  Avedding  at  Miss  Nelson's  home  on  the 
old  Pelham  Road,  where  Hildegarde  Hawthorne  was 
bridesmaid  in  a  white  dress  and  scarlet  flowers  (the 
artillery  colors)  and  many  famous  literary  people 
from  everywhere  were  present. 

Augustus  Thomas,  the  brilliant  playwright,  whose 
home  was  near  the  Remingtons  on  Lathers'  Hill,  and 

296 


DAVID'S  ISLAND 

whose  wife,  so  young,  so  beautiful  and  so  accom- 
plished, made  that  home  attractive  and  charming. 

Francis  Wilson,  known  to  the  world  at  large,  first 
as  a  singer  in  comic  opera,  and  now  as  an  actor  and 
author,  also  lived  in  New  Rochelle,  and  we  came  to 
have  the  honor  of  being  numbered  amongst  his 
friends.  A  devoted  husband  and  kind  father,  a  man 
of  letters  and  a  book  lover,  such  is  the  man  as  we 
knew  him  in  his  home  and  with  his  family. 

And  now  came  the  delicious  warm  summer  days. 
We  persuaded  the  Quartermaster  to  prop  up  the 
little  row  of  old  bathing  houses  which  had  toppled 
over  with  the  heavy  winter  gales.  There  were  several 
bathing  enthusiasts  amongst  us ;  we  had  a  pretty  fair 
little  stretch  of  beach  which  was  set  apart  for  the 
officers'  families,  and  now  what  bathing  parties  wx 
had!  Kemble,  the  illustrator,  joined  our  ranks — and 
on  a  warm  summer  morning  the  little  old  Tug  Ham- 
ilton was  gay  with  the  artists  and  their  families,  the 
players  and  writers  of  plays,  and  soon  you  could 
see  the  little  garrison  hastening  to  the  beach  and  the 
swimmers  running  dovv^n  the  long  pier,  down  the 
run-way  and  off  head  first  into  the  clear  waters  of 
the  Sound.  What  a  company  was  that !  The  younger 
and  the  older  ones  all  together,  children  and  their 
fathers  and  mothers,  all  happy,  all  well,  all  so  gay, 
and  we  of  the  frontier  so  enamored  of  civilization 
and  what  it  brought  us !  There  were  no  intruders  and 
ah!    those  were  happy  days.     Uncle  Sam  seemed  to 

297 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

be  making  up  to  us  for  what  we  had  lost  during  all 
those  long  years  in  the  wild  places. 

Then  Augustus  Thomas  wrote  the  play  of  "Arizona'' 
and  we  went  to  New  York  to  see  it  put  on,  and  we 
sat  iij  Mr.  Thomas'  box  and  saw  our  frontier  life 
brought  before  us  with  startling  reality. 

And  so  one  season  followed  another.  Each  bring- 
ing its  pleasures,  and  then  came  another  lovely  wed- 
ding, for  my  brother  Harry  gave  up  his  bachelor 
estate  and  married  one  of  the  nicest  and  handsomest 
girls  in  Westchester  County,  and  their  home  in  New 
Rochelle  was  most  attractive.  My  son  was  at  the 
Stevens  Institute  and  both  he  and  Katharine  were 
able  to  spend  their  vacations  at  David's  Island,  and 
altogether,  our  life  there  was  near  to  perfection. 

We  were  doomed  to  have  one  more  tour  in  the 
West,  however,  and  this  time  it  was  the  Middle  West. 

For  in  the  autumn  of  '96,  Jack  was  ordered  to 
Jefferson  Barracks,  Missouri,  on  construction  work. 

Jefferson  Barracks  is  an  old  and  historic  post  on 
the  Mississippi  River,  some  ten  miles  south  of  St. 
Louis.  I  could  not  seem  to  take  any  interest  in  the 
post  or  in  the  life  there.  I  could  not  form  new  ties 
so  quickly,  after  our  life  on  the  coast,  and  I  did  not 
like  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  St.  Louis  was  too  far 
from  the  post,  and  the  trolley  ride  over  there  too  dis- 
agreeable for  words.  After  seven  months  of  just 
existing  (on  my  part)  at  Jefferson  Barracks,  Jack 
received  an  order  for  Fort  Myer,  the  end,  the  aim, 

298 


DAVID'S  ISLAND 

the  dream  of  all  army  people.  Fort  Myer  is  about 
three  miles  from  Washington,  D.  C. 

We  lost  no  time  in  getting  there  and  were  soon 
settled  in  our  pleasant  quarters.  There  was  some 
building  to  be  done,  but  the  duty  was  comparatively 
light,  and  we  entered  with  considerable  zest  into  the 
social  life  of  the  Capital.  We  expected  to  remain 
there  for  two  years,  at  the  end  of  which  time  Captain 
Summerhayes  would  be  retired  and  Washington  would 
be  our  permanent  home. 

But  alas !  our  anticipation  was  never  to  be  realized, 
for,  as  we  all  know,  in  May  of  1898,  the  Spanish  War 
broke  out,  and  my  husband  was  ordered  to  New  York 
City  to  take  charge  of  the  Army  Transport  Service, 
under  Colonel  Kimball. 

No  delay  was  permitted  to  him,  so  I  was  left  behind, 
to  pack  up  the  household  goods  and  to  dispose  of  our 
horses  and  carriages  as  best  I  could. 

The  battle  of  Manila  Bay  had  changed  the  current 
of  our  lives,  and  we  were  once  more  adrift. 

The  young  Cavalry  officers  came  in  to  say  good-bye 
to  Captain  Jack:  every  one  was  busy  packing  up  his 
belongings  for  an  indefinite  period  and  preparing  for 
the  field.  We  all  felt  the  undercurrent  of  sadness 
and  uncertainty,  but  ''a  good  health''  and  ''happy 
return"  was  drunk  all  around,  and  Jack  departed  at 
midnight  for  his  new  station  and  new  duties. 

The  next  morning  at  daybreak  we  were  awakened 


299 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

by  the  tramp,  tramp  of  the  Cavalry,  marching  out 
of  the  post,  en  route  for  Cuba. 

We  peered  out  of  the  windows  and  watched  the 
troops  we  loved  so  well,  until  every  man  and  horse 
had  vanished  from  our  sight. 

Fort  Myer  was  deserted  and  our  hearts  were  sad. 

My  sister  Harriet,  who  was  visiting  us  at  that  time, 
returned  from  her  morning  walk,  and  as  she  stepped 
upon  the  porch,  she  said:  "Well!  of  all  lonesome 
places  I  ever  saw,  this  is  the  worst  yet.  I  am  going 
to  pack  my  trunk  and  leave.  I  came  to  visit  an  army 
post,  but  not  an  old  zvomen's  home  or  an  orphan 
asylum :  that  is  about  all  this  place  is  now.  I  simply 
cannot  stay !" 

Whereupon,  she  proceeded  immediately  to  carry  out 
her  resolution,  and  I  was  left  behind  with  my  young 
daughter,  to  finish  and  close  up  our  life  at  Fort  Myer. 

To  describe  the  year  which  followed,  that  strenuous 
year  in  New  York,  is  beyond  my  power. 

That  summer  gave  Jack  his  promotion  to  a  Major, 
but  the  anxiety  and  the  terrible  strain  of  official  work 
broke  down  his, health  entirely,  and  in  the  following 
winter  the  doctors  sent  him  to  Florida,  to  recuperate. 

After  six  weeks  in  St.  Augustine,  we  returned  to 
New  York.  The  stress  of  the  war  was  over ;  the  Major 
was  ordered  to  Governor's  Island  as  Chief  Quarter- 
master, Department  of  the  East,  and  in  the  following 

300 


DAVID'S  ISLAND 

year  he  was  retired,  by  operation  of  the  law,  at  the 
age  Hmit. 

I  was  glad  to  rest  from  the  incessant  changing  of 
stations;  the  life  had  become  irksome  to  me,  in  its 
perpetual  unrest.  I  was  glad  to  find  a  place  to  lay 
my  head,  and  to  feel  that  we  were  not  under  orders ; 
to  find  and  to  keep  a  roof-tree,  under  which  we  could 
abide  forever. 

In  1903,  by  an  act  of  Congress,  the  veterans  of  the 
Civil  War,  who  had  served  continuously  for  thirty 
years  or  more  were  given  an  extra  grade,  so  now  my 
hero  wears  with  complacency  the  silver  leaf  of  the 
Lieutenant-Colonel,  and  is  enjoying  the  quiet  life  of 
a  civilian. 

But  that  fatal  spirit  of  unrest  from  which  I  thought 
to  escape,  and  which  ruled  my  life  for  so  many  years, 
sometimes  asserts  its  power,  and  at  those  times  my 
thoughts  turn  back  to  the  days  when  we  were  all 
Lieutenants  together,  marching  across  the  deserts  and 
mountains  of  Arizona;  back  to  my  friends  of  the 
Eighth  Infantry,  that  historic  regiment,  whose  officers 
and  men  fought  before  the  walls  of  Chapultepec  and 
Mexico,  back  to  my  friends  of  the  Sixth  Cavalry,  to 
the  days  at  Camp  MacDowell,  where  we  slept  under 
the  stars,  and  watched  the  sun  rise  from  behind  the 
Four  Peaks  of  the  MacDowell  Mountains :  where  we 
rode  the  big  cavalry  horses  over  the  sands  of  the 
Maricopa  desert,  swung  in  our  hammocks  under  the 
ramddas;  swam  in  the  red  waters  of  the  Verde  River, 

301 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

ate  canned  peaches,  pink  butter  and  commissary  hams, 
listened  for  the  scratching  of  the  centipedes  as  they 
scampered  around  the  edges  of  our  canvas-covered 
floors,  found  scorpions  in  our  sHppers,  and  rattle- 
snakes under  our  beds. 

The  old  post  is  long  since  abandoned,  but  the  Four 
Peaks  still  stand,  wrapped  in  their  black  shadows  by 
night,  and  their  purple  colors  by  day,  waiting  for  the 
passing  of  the  Apache  and  the  coming  of  the  white 
man,  who  shall  dig  his  canals  in  those  arid  plains, 
and  build  his  cities  upon  the  ruins  of  the  ancient 
Aztec  dwellings. 

The  Sixth  Cavalry,  as  well  as  the  Eighth  Infantry, 
has  seen  many  vicissitudes  since  those  days.  Some 
of  our  gallant  Captains  and  Lieutenants  have  won 
their  stars,  others  have  been  slain  in  battle. 

Dear,  gentle  Major  Worth  received  wounds  in  the 
Cuban  campaign,  which  caused  his  death,  but  he  wore 
his  stars  before  he  obeyed  the  "last  call." 

The  gay  young  officers  of  Angel  Island  days  hold 
dignified  commands  in  the  Philippines,  Cuba,  and 
Alaska. 


My  early  experiences  were  unusually  rough.  None 
of  us  seek  such  experiences,  but  possibly  they  bring 
with  them  a  sort  of  recompense,  in  that  simple  com- 
forts afterwards  seem,  by  contrast,  to  be  the  greatest 
luxuries. 

302 


DAVID'S  ISLAND 

I  am  glad  to  have  known  the  army:  the  soldiers, 
the  line,  and  the  Staff;  it  is  good  to  think  of  honor 
and  chivalry,  obedience  to  duty  and  the  pride  of 
arms ;  to  have  lived  amongst  men  whose  motives  were 
unselfish  and  whose  aims  were  high;  amongst  men 
who  served  an  ideal;  who  stood  ready,  at  the  call  of 
their  country,  to  give  their  lives  for  a  Government 
which  is,  to  them,  the  best  in  the  world. 

Sometimes  I  hear  the  still  voices  of  the  Desert :  they 
seem  to  be  calling  me  through  the  echoes  of  the  Past. 
I  hear,  in  fancy,  the  wheels  of  the  ambulance  crunch- 
ing the  small  broken  stones  of  the  malapais,  or 
grating  swiftly  over  the  gravel  of  the  smooth  white 
roads  of  the  river-bottoms.  I  hear  the  rattle  of  the 
ivory  rings  on  the  harness  of  the  six-mule  team ;  I  see 
the  soldiers  marching  on  ahead;  I  see  my  white  tent, 
so  inviting  after  a  long  day's  journey. 

But  how  vain  these  fancies!  Railroad  and  auto- 
mobile have  annihilated  distance,  the  army  life  of 
those  years  is  past  and  gone,  and  Arizona,  as  we  knew 
it,  has  vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 


THE   END. 


APPENDIX. 
Nantucket  IsIvAnd,  June  191  o. 

When,  a  few  years  ago,  I  determined  to  write  my 
recollections  of  life  in  the  army,  I  was  wholly  un- 
familiar with  the  methods  of  publishers,  and  the 
firm  to  whom  I  applied  to  bring  out  my  book,  did 
not  urge  upon  me  the  advisability  of  having  it  electro- 
typed,  firstly,  because,  as  they  said  afterwards,  I  my- 
self had  such  a  very  modest  opinion  of  my  book,  and, 
secondly  because  they  thought  a  book  of  so  decidedly 
personal  a  character  would  not  reach  a  sale  of  more 
than  a  few  hundred  copies  at  the  farthest.  The 
matter  of  electrotyping  was  not  even  discussed  be- 
tween us.  The  entire  edition  of  one  thousand  copies 
was  exhausted  in  about  a  year,  without  having  been 
carried  on  the  lists  of  any  bookseller  or  advertised  in 
any  way  except  through  some  circulars  sent  by  myself 
to  personal  friends,  and  through  several  excellent 
reviews  in  prominent  newspapers. 

As  the  demand  for  the  book  continued,  I  have 
thought  it  advisable  to  re-issue  it,  adding  a  good  deal 
that  has  come  into  my  mind  since  its  publication. 

It  was  after  the  Colonel's  retirement  that  we  came 
to  spend  the  summers  at  Nantucket,  and  I  began  to 
enjoy  the  leisure  that  never  comes  into  the  life  of  an 
army  woman  during  the  active  service  of   her  hus- 

304 


APPENDIX 

band.  We  were  no  longer  expecting  sudden  orders, 
and  I  was  able  to  think  quietly  over  the  events  of 
the  past. 

My  old  letters  which  had  been  returned  to  me 
really  gave  me  the  inspiration  to  write  the  book  and 
as  I  read  them  over,  the  people  and  the  events  therein 
described  were  recalled  vividly  to  my  mind — events 
which  I  had  forgotten,  people  whom  I  had  forgotten — 
events  and  people  all  crowded  out  of  my  memory  for 
many  years  by  the  pressure  of  family  cares,  and  the 
succession  of  changes  in  our  stations,  by  anxiety 
during  Indian  campaigns,  and  the  constant  readjust- 
ment of  my  mind  to  new  scenes  and  new  friends. 

And  so,  in  the  delicious  quiet  of  the  Autumn  days 
at  Nantucket,  when  the  summer  winds  had  ceased  to 
blow  and  the  frogs  had  ceased  their  pipings  in  the 
salt  meadows,  and  the  sea  was  wondering  whether  it 
should  keep  its  summer  blue  or  change  into  its  winter 
grey,  I  sat  down  at  my  desk  and  began  to  write  my 
story. 

Looking  out  over  the  quiet  ocean  in  those  wonder- 
ful November  days,  when  a  peaceful  calm  brooded 
over  all  things,  I  gathered  up  all  the  threads  of  my 
various  experiences  and  wove  them  together. 

But  the  people  and  the  lands  I  wrote  about  did  not 
really  exist  for  me;  they  were  dream  people  and 
dream  lands.  I  wrote  of  them  as  they  had  appeared 
to  me  in  those  early  years,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 

30s 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

I  did  not  once  stop  to  think  if  the  people  and  the 
lands  still  existed. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  century  I  had  lived  in  the  day 
that  began  with  reveille  and  ended  with  ''Taps." 

Now  on  this  enchanted  island,  there  was  no  reveille 
to  awaken  us  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  the 
only  sound  we  could  hear  was  the  "ruck"  of  the  waves 
on  the  far  outer  shores  and  the  sad  tolling  of  the 
bell  buoy  when  the  heaving  swell  of  the  ocean  came 
rolling  over  the  bar. 

And  so  I  wrote,  and  the  story  grew  into  a  book 
which  was  published  and  sent  out  to  friends  and 
family. 

As  time  passed  on,  I  began  to  receive  orders  for 
the  book  from  army  officers,  and  then  one  day  I  re- 
ceived orders  from  people  in  Arizona  and  I  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  Arizona  was  no  longer  the  land  of  my 
memories.  I  began  to  receive  booklets  telling  me 
of  projected  railroads,  also  pictures  of  wonderful 
buildings,  all  showing  progress  and  prosperity. 

And  then  came  letters  from  some  Presidents  of 
railroads  whose  lines  ran  through  Arizona,  and  from 
bankers  and  politicians  and  business  men  of  Tucson, 
Phoenix  and  Yuma  City.  Photographs  showing 
shady  roads  and  streets,  where  once  all  was  a  glare 
and  a  sandy  waste.  Letters  from  mining  men  who 
knew  every  foot  of  the  roads  we  had  marched  over; 
pictures  of  the  great  Laguna  dam  on  the  Colorado, 

306 


APPENDIX 

and  of  the  quarters  of  the  Government  Reclamation 
Service  Corps  at  Yuma. 

These  letters  and  pictures  told  me  of  the  wonderful 
contrast  presented  by  my  story  to  the  Arizona  of 
today;  and  although  I  had  not  spared  that  country, 
in  my  desire  to  place  before  my  children  and  friends 
a  vivid  picture  of  my  life  out  there,  all  these  men 
seemed  willing  to  forgive  me  and  even  declared  that 
my  story  might  do  as  much  to  advance  their  interests 
and  the  prosperity  of  Arizona  as  anything  which  had 
been  written  with  only  that  object  in  view. 

My  soul  was  calmed  by  these  assurances,  and  I 
ceased  to  be  distressed  by  thinking  over  the  descrip- 
tions I  had  given  of  the  unpleasant  conditions  existing 
in  that  country  in  the  seventies. 

In  the  meantime,  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle  had 
published  a  good  review  of  my  book,  and  reproduced 
the  photograph  of  Captain  Jack  Mellon,  the  noted 
pilot  of  the  Colorado  river,  adding  that  he  was  un- 
doubtedly one  of  the  most  picturesque  characters  who 
had  ever  lived  on  the  Pacific  Coast  and  that  he  had 
died  some  years  ago. 

And  so  he  was  really  dead!  And  perhaps  the 
others  too,  were  all  gone  from  the  earth,  I  thought, 
when  one  day  I  received  a  communication  from  an  en- 
tire stranger,  who  informed  me  that  the  writer  of 
the  review  in  the  San  Francisco  newspaper  had  been 
mistaken  in  the  matter  of  Captain  Mellon's  death, 
that  he  had  seen  him  recently  and  that  he  lived  at 

307 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

San  Diego.  So  I  wrote  to  him  and  made  haste  to 
forward  him  a  copy  of  my  book,  which  reached  him 
at  Yuma,  on  the  Colorado,  and  this  is  what  he  wrote : 

Yuma,  Dec.  15th,  1908. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes: 

Your  good  book  and  letter  came  yesterday  p.  m.,  for 
which  accept  my  thanks.  My  home  is  not  in  San 
Diego,  but  in  Coronado,  across  the  bay  from  San 
Diego.  That  is  the  reason  I  did  not  get  your  letter 
sooner. 

In  one  hour  after  I  received  your  book,  I  had 
orders  for  nine  of  them.  All  these  books  go  to  the 
official  force  of  the  Reclamation  Service  here  who  are 
Damming  the  Colorado  for  the  Government  Irrigation 
Project.  They  are  not  Damming  it  as  we  formerly 
did,  but  with  good  solid  masonry.  The  Dam  is  4800 
feet  long  and  300  feet  wide  and  10  feet  above  high 
water.  In  high  water  it  will  flow  over  the  top  of  the 
Dam,  but  in  low  water  the  ditches  or  canals  will  take 
all  the  water  out  of  the  River,  the  approximate  cost 
is  three  million.  There  will  be  a  tunnel  under  the 
River  at  Yuma  just  below  the  Bridge,  to  bring  the 
water  into  Arizona  which  is  thickly  settled  to  the 
Mexican  Line. 

I  have  done  nothing  on  the  River  since  the  23rd 
of  last  August,  at  which  date  they  closed  the  River 
to  Navigation,  and  the  only  reason  I  am  now  in  Yuma 
is  trying  to  get  something  from  Government  for  my 

308 


APPENDIX 

boats  made  useless  by  the  Dam.  I  expect  to  get  a 
little,  but  not  a  tenth  of  what  they  cost  me. 

Your  book  could  not  have  a  better  title:  it  is 
^^Vanished  Arizona"  sure  enough,  vanished  the  good 
and  warm  Hearts  that  were  here  when  you  were.  The 
People  here  now  are  cold  blooded  as  a  snake  and  are 
all  trying  to  get  the  best  of  the  other  fellow. 

There  are  but  two  alive  that  were  on  the  River 
when  you  were  on  it.  Polhemus  and  myself  are  all 
that  are  left,  but  I  have  many  friends  on  this  coast. 

The  nurse  Patrocina  died  in  Los  Angeles  last  sum- 
mer and  the  crying  kid  Jesusita  she  had  on  the  boat 
when  you  went  from  Ehrenberg  to  the  mouth  of  the 
River  grew  up  to  be  the  finest  looking  Girl  in  these 
Parts;  She  was  the  Star  witness  in  a  murder  trial  in 
LyOs  Angeles  last  winter,  and  her  picture  was  in  all 
of  the  Papers. 

I  am  sending  you  a  picture  of  the  Steamer  ''Mojave'' 
which  was  not  on  the  river  when  you  were  here.  I 
made  20  trips  with  her  up  to  the  Virgin  River,  which 
is  145  miles  above  Fort  Mojave,  or  75  miles  higher 
than  any  other  man  has  gone  with  a  boat:  she  was 
10  feet  longer  than  the  ''Gila"  or  any  other  boat  ever 
on  the  River.  (Excuse  this  blowing  but  it's  the  truth). 

In  1864  I  was  on  a  trip  down  the  Gulf  of  California, 
in  a  small  sail  boat  and  one  of  my  companions  was 
John  Stanton.  In  AngeFs  Bay  a  man  whom  we  were 
giving  a  passage  to,  murdered  my  partner  and  ran 

309 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

oflf  with  the  boat  and  left  Charley  Ticen,  John  Stanton 
and  myself  on  the  beach.  We  were  seventeen  days 
tramping  to  a  village  with  nothing  to  eat  but  cactus  but 
I  think  I  have  told  you  the  story  before  and  what 
I  want  to  know,  is  this  Stanton  alive.  He  belonged 
to  New  Bedford — his  father  had  been  master  of  a 
whale-ship. 

When  we  reached  Guaymas,  Stanton  found  a 
friend,  the  mate  of  a  steamer,  the  mate  also  belonged 
to  New  Bedford.  When  we  parted,  Stanton  told  me 
he  was  going  home  and  was  going  to  stay  there,  and 
as  he  was  two  years  younger  than  me,  he  may  still 
be  in  New  Bedford,  and  as  you  are  on  the  ground, 
maybe  you  can  help  me  to  find  out. 

All  the  people  that  I  know  praise  your  descriptive 
power  and  now  my  dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes  I  suppose 
you  will  have  a  hard  time  wading  through  my 
scrawl  but  I  know  you  will  be  generous  and  remember 
that  I  went  to  sea  when  a  little  over  nine  years  of 
age  and  had  my  pen  been  half  as  often  in  my  hand  as 
a  marlin  spike,  I  would  now  be  able  to  write  a  much 
clearer  hand. 

I  have  a  little  bungalow  on  Coronado  Beach,  across 
the  bay  from  San  Diego,  and  if  you  ever  come  there, 
you  or  your  husband,  you  are  welcome ;  while  I  have 
a  bean  you  can  have  half.  I  would  like  to  see  you 
and  talk  over  old  times.  Yuma  is  quite  a  place  now ; 
no  more  adobes  built ;  it  is  brick  and  concrete,  cement 

310 


APPENDIX 

sidewalks  and  flower  gardens  with  electric  light  and 
a  good  water  system. 

My  home  is  within  five  minutes  walk  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  I  was  born  at  Digby,  Nova  Scotia,  and  the 
first  music  I  ever  heard  was  the  surf  of  the  Bay  of 
Fundy,  and  when  I  close  my  eyes  forever  I  hope 
the  surf  of  the  Pacific  will  be  the  last  sound  that 
will  greet  my  ears. 

I  read  Vanished  Arizona  last  night  until  after 
midnight,  and  thought  what  we  both  had  gone  through 
since  you  first  came  up  the  Colorado  with  me.  My 
acquaintance  with  the  army  was  always  pleasant,  and 
like  Tom  Moore  I  often  say: 

Let  fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy 
Bright  dreams  of  the  past  which  she  cannot  destroy! 
Which  come  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  care 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 
Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled! 

I  suppose  the  Colonel  goes  down  to  the  Ship 
Chandler's  and  gams  with  the  old  whaling  captains. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  there  was  a  wealthy  family  of 
ship-owners  in  New  Bedford  by  the  name  of  Robinson. 
I  saw  one  of  their  ships  in  Bombay,  India,  that  was 
in  1854,  her  name  was  the  Mary  Robinson,  and  altho' 
there  were  over  a  hundred  ships  on  the  bay,  she  was 
the  handsomest  there. 

Well,  good  friend,  I  am  afraid  I  will  tire  you  out,  so 
311 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

I  will  belay  this,  and  with  best  wishes  for  you  and 
yours, 

I  am,  yours  truly, 

J.  A.  MKI.I.ON. 
P.  S. — Fisher  is  long  since  called  to  his  Long  Home. 


I  had  fancied,  when  Vanished  Arizona  was  pub- 
lished, that  it  might  possibly  appeal  to  the  sympathies 
of  women,  and  that  men  would  lay  it  aside  as  a  sort-of 
a  "woman's  book" — but  I  have  received  more  really 
sympathetic  letters  from  men  than  I  have  from 
women,  all  telling  me,  in  different  words,  that  the 
human  side  of  the  story  had  appealed  to  them,  and 
I  suppose  this  comes  from  the  fact  that  originally 
I  wrote  it  for  my  children,  and  felt  perfect  free- 
dom to  put  my  whole  self  into  it.  And  now  that 
the  book  is  entirely  out  of  my  hands,  I  am  glad 
that  I  wrote  it  as  I  did,  for  if  I  had  stopped 
to  think  that  my  dream  people  might  be  real  people, 
and  that  the  real  people  would  read  it,  I  might  never 
have  had  the  courage  to  write  it  at  all. 

The  many  letters  I  have  received  of  which  there 
have  been  several  hundred  I  am  sure,  have  been  so 
interesting  that  I  reproduce  a  few  more  of  them  here : 

312 


APPENDIX 

Fort  Benjamin  Harrison, 
Indianapous,  Indiana. 
January  lo,   1909. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes : 

I  have  just  read  the  book.  It  is  a  good  book,  a 
true  book,  one  of  the  best  kind  of  books.  After 
taking  it  up  I  did  not  lay  it  down  till  it  was  finished — 
till  with  you  I  had  again  gone  over  the  malapais  deserts 
of  Arizona,  and  recalled  my  own  meetings  with  you 
at  Niobrara  and  at  old  Fort  Marcy  or  Santa  Fe.  You 
were  my  cicerone  in  the  old  town  and  I  couldn't 
have  had  a  better  one — or  more  charming  one. 

The  book  has  recalled  many  memories  to  me. 
Scarcely  a  name  you  mention  but  is  or  was  a  friend. 
Major  Van  Vliet  loaned  me  his  copy,  but  I  shall  get 
one  of  my  own  and  shall  tell  my  friends  in  the  East 
that,  if  they  desire  a  true  picture  of  army  life  as  it 
appears  to  the  army  woman,  they  must  read  your 
book. 

For  my  part  I  feel  that  I  must  congratulate  you  on 
your  successful  work  and  thank  you  for  the  pleasure 
you  have  given  me  in  its  perusal. 

With  cordial  regard  to  you  and  yours,  and  with 
best  wishes  for  many  happy  years. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

L.  W.  V.  Kennon, 

Maj.  10th  Inf. 
313 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

Headquarters  Third  Brigade, 
NationaIv  Guard  of^  Pennsyi^vania, 
WiIvKES-Barre,    Pennsyi^vania. 
January  19,  1908. 
Dear  Madam : 

I  am  sending  you  herewith  my  check  for  two 
copies  of  "Vanished  Arizona."  This  summer  our  mu- 
tual friend,  Colonel  Beaumont  (late  4th  U.  S.  Cav.) 
ordered  two  copies  for  me  and  I  have  given  them 
both  away  to  friends  whom  I  wanted  to  have  read 
your  delightful  and  charming  book.  I  am  now  order- 
ing one  of  these  for  another  friend  and  wish  to  keep 
one  in  my  record  library  as  a  memorable  story  of  the 
bravery  and  courage  of  the  noble  band  of  army  men 
and  women  who  helped  to  blaze  the  pathway  of  the 
nation's  progress  in  its  course  of  Empire  Westward. 
No  personal  record  written,  which  I  have  read,  tells 
so  splendidly  of  what  the  good  women  of  our  army 
endured  in  the  trials  that  beset  the  army  in  the  life 
on  the  plains  in  the  days  succeeding  the  Civil  War. 
And  all  this  at  a  time  when  the  nation  and  its  people 
were  caring  but  little  for  you  all  and  the  struggles 
you  were  making. 

I  will  be  pleased  indeed  if  you  will  kindly  inscribe 
your  name  in  one  of  the  books  you  will  send  me. 

Sincerely  Yours, 

C.  B.  Dougherty, 
Brig,  Gen'l  N.  G.  Pa, 
Jan.  19,  1908. 

314 


APPENDIX 

Schenectady,  N.  Y. 
June  8th,  1908. 
Mrs.  John  W.  Summerhayes, 

North  Shore  Hill,  Nantucket,  Mass. 
My  Dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes: 

Were  I  to  say  that  I  enjoyed  ''Vanished  Arizona," 
I  should  very  inadequately  express  my  feelings  about 
it,  because  there  is  so  much  to  arouse  emotions  deeper 
than  what  we  call  ''enjoyment'' ;  it  stirs  the  sympa- 
thies and  excites  our  admiration  for  your  courage  and 
your  fortitude.  In  a  word,  the  story,  honest  and  un- 
affected, yet  vivid,  has  in  it  that  touch  of  nature 
which  makes  kin  of  us  all. 

How  actual  knowledge  and  experience  broadens  our 
minds !  Your  appreciation  of,  and  charity  for,  the 
weaknesses  of  those  living  a  lonely  life  of  deprivation 
on  the  frontier,  impressed  me  very  much.  I  wish  too, 
that  what  you  say  about  the  canteen  could  be  published 
in  every  newspaper  in  America. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

M.  F.  Westover, 
Secretary  Gen' I  Electric  Co. 

The  M11.1TARY  Service  Institution  of  the  United 

States. 

Governor's  Island,  N.  Y. 
June  25,  1908. 
Dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes: 

I    offer    my    personal    congratulations    upon    your 
315 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

success  in  producing  a  work  of  such  absorbing  interest 
to  all  friends  of  the  Army,  and  so  instructive  to  the 
public  at  large, 

I  have  just  finished  reading  the  book,  from  cover 
to  cover,  to  my  wife  and  we  have  enjoyed  it  thor- 
oughly. 

Will  you  please  advise  me  where  the  book  can  be 
purchased  in  New  York,  or  otherwise  mail  two  copies 
to  me  at  203  W.  54th  Street,  New  York  City,  with 
memo  of  price  per  copy,  that  I  may  remit  the  amount. 

Very  truly  yours, 

T.   F.   RODENBOUGH^ 

Secretary  and  Editor  (Brig.  Gen'l.  U.  S.  A.) 

Yai,k  University,  New  Haven,  Conn. 
May  15,  1910. 
Dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes : 

I  have  read  every  word  of  your  book  ''Vanished 
Arizona"  with  intense  interest.  You  have  given  a 
vivid  account  of  what  you  actually  saw  and  lived 
through,  and  nobody  can  resist  the  truthfulness  and 
reality  of  your  narrative.  The  book  is  a  real  contri- 
bution to  American  history,  and  to  the  chronicles  of 
army  life. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Wm.  Lyon  PheIvPS^ 

[Professor  of  English  literature  at  Yale  University.] 
316 


J 


APPENDIX 

LoNACONiNG,  Md.,  Jan.  2,  1909. 
Col.  J.  W.  Summerhays, 

New  Rochelle,  N.  Y. 
Dear  Sir: 

Captain  William  Baird,  6th  Cavalry,  retired,  now 
at  Annapolis,  sent  me  Mrs.  Summerhay's  book  to 
read,  and  I  have  read  it  with  delight,  for  I  was  in 
''K"  when  Mrs.  Summerhays  ''took  on''  in  the  8th. 
Myself  and  my  brother,  Michael,  served  in  "K"  Com- 
pany from  David's  Island  to  Camp  Apache.  Doubt- 
less you  have  forgotten  me,  but  I  am  sure  that  you 
remember  the  tall  fifer  of  ''K",  Michael  Gurnett.  He 
was  killed  at  Camp  Mohave  in  Sept.  1885,  while  in 
Company  ''G"  of  the  ist  Infantry.  I  was  five  years 
in  ''K",  but  my  brother  re-enlisted  in  ''K'',  and  after- 
ward joined  the  First.  He  served  in  the  31st,  22nd, 
8th  and  ist. 

Oh,  that  little  book!  We're  all  in  it,  even  poor 
Charley  Bowen.  Mrs.  Summerhays  should  have 
written  a  longer  story.  She  soldiered  long  enough 
with  the  8th  in  the  ''bloody  70's"  to  be  able  to  write  a 
book  five  times  as  big.  For  what  she's  done,  God 
bless  her!  She  is  entitled  to  the  Irishman's  benedic- 
tion: "May  every  hair  in  her  head  be  a  candle  to 
light  her  soul  to  glory."  We  poor  old  Regulars  have 
little  said  about  us  in  print,  and  wish  to  God  that 
"Vanished  Arizona"  was  in  the  hands  of  every  old 
veteran  of  the  "Marching  8th."  If  I  had  the  means 
I  would  send  a  copy  to  our  ist  Serg't  Bernard  Moran, 

317 


VANISHED  ARIZONA 

and  the  other  old  comrades  at  the  Soldiers'  Home. 
But,  alas,  evil  times  have  fallen  upon  us,  and — I'm 
not  writing  a  jeremiad  —  I  took  the  book  from  the 
post  office  and  when  I  saw  the  crossed  ^ns  and  the 
*'8"  there  was  a  lump  in  my  throat,  and  I  went  into 
the  barber  shop  and  read  it  through  before  I  left.  A 
friend  of  mine  was  in  the  shop  and  when  I  came  to 
Pringle's  death,  he  said,  "Gurnett,  that  must  be  a  sad 
book  you're  reading,  why  man,  you're  crying." 

I  believe  I  was,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy.  And, 
Oh,  Lord,  to  think  of  Bowen  having  a  full  page  in 
history;  but,  after  all,  maybe  he  deserved  it.  And 
that  picture  of  my  company  commander!  [Worth]. 
Long,  long,  have  I  gazed  on  it.  I  was  only  sixteen  and 
a  half  years  old  when  I  joined  his  company  at  David's 
Island,  Dec.  6th,  1871.  Folliot  A.  Whitney  was  ist 
lieutenant  and  Cyrus  Earnest,  2nd.  What  a  fine 
man  Whitney  was.  A  finer  man  nor  truer  gentleman 
ever  wore  a  shoulder  strap.  If  he  had  been  company 
commander  I'd  have  re-enlisted  and  stayed  with  him. 
I  was  always  afraid  of  Worth,  though  he  was  always 
good  to  my  brother  and  myself.  I  deeply  regretted 
Lieut.  Whitney's  death  in  Cuba,  and  I  watched  Major 
Worth's  career  in  the  last  war.  It  nearly  broke  my 
heart  that  I  could  not  go.  Oh,  the  rattle  of  the  war 
drum  and  the  bugle  calls  and  the  marching  troops,  it 
set  me  crazy,  and  me  not  able  to  take  a  hand  in  the 
scrap. 


318 


APPENDIX 

Mrs.  Summerhays  calls  him  Wm.  T.  Worth,  isn't 
it  Wm.  S.  Worth? 

The  copy  I  have  read  was  loaned  me  by  Captain 
Baird;  he  says  it's  a  Christmas  gift  from  General 
Carter,  and  I  must  return  it.  My  poor  wife  has  read 
it  with  keen  interest  and  says  she:  "William,  I  am 
going  to  have  that  book  for  my  children,"  and  she'll 
get  it,  yea,  verily !   she  will. 

Well,  Colonel,  I'm  right  glad  to  know  that  you  are 
still  on  this  side  of  the  great  divide,  and  I  know  that 
you  and  Mrs.  S.  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  an  old 
'Valk-a-heap"  of  the  8th. 

I  am  working  for  a  Cumberland  newspaper — Lona- 
coning  reporter — and  I  will  send  you  a  copy  or  two 
of  the  paper  with  this.  And  now,  permit  me  to  sub- 
scribe myself  your 

Comrade  In  Arms, 

W11.1.IAM  A.  GURNKTT. 
Dear  Mrs.  Summerhayes : 

Read  your  book — in  fact  when  I  got  started  I  forgot 
my  bedtime  (and  you  know  how  rigid  that  is)  and  sat 
it  through. 

It  has  a  bully  note  of  the  old  army — it  was  all  worth 
while — they  had  color,  those  days. 

I  say — now  suppose  you  had  married  a  man  who 
kept  a  drug  store — see  what  you  would  have  had  and 
see  what  you  would  have  missed. 

Yours, 

Fri:di;ric  Re;mington, 

(618) 


'V. . 

'  ,■/ 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  BATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL   BE   ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE   TO    REn^URN 
THIS   BOOK  ON   THE  DATE  DUE.      THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY     AND     TO     $1.00     ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

SEI 

>  27  1940 

SEP    8    1932 

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AUG  27  1941 

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DEC  28  1944 

A^JAN  11  1945 

rOV  21  1933 

FEB  20  .^0' 

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APR    3  1935    , 

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OCT  21  1937 

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